


All The Things We Could Not Say

by Nihonkikuasa211



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Secret Relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihonkikuasa211/pseuds/Nihonkikuasa211
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an unexpected change occurs in Christa's and Neal's relationship, they have only a moment of comfort before the actions of their consequences catch up to them. All actions have consequences, and all consequences are made from actions, and some of them are more devastating than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_“…And now she won’t tuck her kids into bed! Did you_ see _the_ look _on her husband’s face?”_

_“I know! I know, but it doesn’t mean anything to her family, and it doesn’t do anything to me! I still have to live with the fact that I…”_

That was how it began. Christa still remembered with vivid clarity of the first kiss they had shared. She remembered of how it had felt to feel Neal’s lips against her own, moving his mouth against hers as his hand held the back of her head gently. The blond resident further remembered of how gentle and loving Neal was as they first made love – for that what it was, Christa thought. It wasn’t truly about the sex, as some couples experienced. It was the emotional bond that they shared, and their feelings toward each other that became something much more intimate. His thumb stroking her fingers as they laid across his chest, as if something precious, remained long in Christa’s mind as they went to Angles that morning. The now-third year resident had started a relationship with an attending, who worked in the same department. They had kept their relationship secret, a select few longing stares only signifying of the bond they had.

                   And now it would change.

                   Christa stared at the small white stick in her hand, vomit caressing her throat as the plus sign remained in view. _Oh no,_ the resident thought as the nausea suddenly became overwhelming and she ungracefully hugged the toilet bowl as she retched. _Shit,_ she thought exhaustedly as she gulped whatever saliva she had left. Christa moved across the bathroom and laid her back against the cool tile. _I thought I was just sick,_ the blond resident thought as she moved her fingers through her greasy hair. _Constantly vomiting and nausea combined with exhaustion._ Christa almost wanted to laugh, for hadn’t she been through his before? With her son, who had died at the age of six from cancer. The resident sighed as she massaged her temples, remembering her first pregnancy – she still couldn’t believe it. Ever since they had begun their relationship, both Christa and Neal had used protection. _Birth control and condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective, Dr. Lorenson,_ the blond chided herself. She remembered of how her ex-husband had lifted her in his arms with joy when she had told him, the bittersweet memory stuck in her mind as the third year resident wondered what she should do.

                   Christa had taken three pregnancy tests; all of them were positive. She backtracked to the date of her last period and groaned. _Angels has been so busy I haven’t even noticed that I missed two periods!_ The blond gently pressed her fingers against her stomach as she thought. How would Neal react? They had been together for two years, but had never discussed children. It was farthest from their minds, only seeing each other as all they needed. The attending was on shift now, telling Christa to try to sleep and that he would try to make her something that she could keep down. They both thought that perhaps Christa had been sick with the stomach bug, and the blond resident remembered vaguely of Neal’s worried face as she settled in his arms and began to fall asleep. _I have to tell him,_ she thought. The blond gulped. _And that means…telling everyone._ Wearily, she began to get dressed. Christa was too tired for a shower, so she placed her hair into a messy ponytail. How would they react? The resident wondered as the exited Neal’s apartment – unofficially theirs since she had moved in with him a year ago, but still only listed as Neal’s – the sounds of Los Angeles sounding dull to her ears as she imagined the reactions of her fellow residents. She winced at the thought of Dr. Rorish. The older doctor would not be happy about the relationship between her former student and current resident. Mama would probably raise his eyebrows but become amused by their secret. _And Neal…how will he feel?_ Christa would admit that she felt daunted by the thought of the attending reacting negatively to the news. She took a deep breath as she entered into the doors of the ER. The chaos of the ER was still going on, patients being rushed to Center Stage and nurses and doctors running back and forth.

                   “Christa?”

                   Her heart jumped at the sound of the familiar voice, and turned to find Neal look at her in shock.

                   “You should be in bed,” he stated with slight worry as he moved closer to her, his dark eyes searching hers as she continued to stare at him with mind-numbing apprehension.

                   “I’m fine,” Christa whispered, knowing that she was lying as she blinked heavily at the lights.

                   “Christa –” Neal started to say, his accent more pronounced as he did when he was worried.

                   “Please,” Christa whispered. For some reason she felt that she was going to cry. “I need to talk to you,” she stated somewhat shakily, “but it has to be in private.”

                   “Okay,” Neal stated, confusion turning to concern as Christa moved toward a slightly quieter place, the curtains drawn around the empty gurney where a burn patient had previously died. Christa closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe as the smell of burnt flesh echoed through her nostrils, telling herself to focus on the words she was meant to say and not on vomiting.

                   “I’m…” To her horror and shock, tears started to leak from Christa’s eyes. She could feel Neal’s hands cover her own, squeezing gently as he moved closer to her until they were chest to chest. For a moment, the blond felt the words against her lips, and before she lost her courage, she said.

                   “I’m pregnant, Neal.”

                   Christa opened her eyes slowly to find Neal looking at her in shock. His eyes were wide, and for a moment it appeared that he couldn’t speak.

                   “How…” His voice was faint, and he cleared his throat. “How long?”

                   Christa licked her lips slowly. “I’m guessing eight weeks,” she whispered. The blond didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps she would have imagined Neal backing away and running, or telling her that he was afraid. She did not expect that he would take her in his arms and embrace her.

                   “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered slowly, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder. His fingers slightly combed her hair. Neal spoke softly to her, allowing her tears to flow from her eyes as she continued to dampen the cotton of his scrubs. Suddenly, he leaned down and kissed her hair, murmuring words that Christa couldn’t hear as she continued to cry.

                   None of them had realized that Dr. Gina Perello had been listening to the entire exchange.


	2. Chapter Two

              Neal and Christa were called to see the director of the ER only fifteen minutes after the third-year resident had told him of her pregnancy. Both were too surprised to say anything for a moment until Neal had asked the nurse who had told them what was going on. The nurse seemed to be as bewildered as Christa and Neal were, and she glanced at them with uneasiness as she started walking away. A hard ball surfaced in Christa’s stomach as she remembered the last time they had been called to the ER director’s office. Mario jokingly called it the principal’s office one time before, but no one had laughed at his statement. Christa felt Neal’s hand squeeze her own as they began to walk to the director’s office, located at the end of the ER. When the door opened, Christa was surprised to see the female director looking outside the window, and unknown expression on her face. Dr. Gina Perello turned, her face a mask of fury as she looked toward Christa and Neal.

                   They had both sat down for only a couple of moments when Dr. Perello spoke to them.

                   “I warned you, Dr. Hudson.” Her hard eyes briefly glanced at the male doctor before closing them again and taking a deep breath. “I told you. “‘Check yourself before you wreck yourself.’” But you didn’t listen to me.”

                   “Dr. Perello –” Neal started to say.

                   “You should have kept your penis in check,” the female ER director almost snarled. Heated eyes glanced in Christa’s direction, and the blond was shocked by the amount of disgust as the ER director continued to stare at her. “Now I not only have a _pregnant_ resident, I also have a shit-load of paperwork to do.”

                   Neal’s eyes widened almost comically wide, and Christa inwardly swallowed a gasp as Dr. Perello continued to lecture them.

                   “What were you thinking?” The ER director started to yell, her anger raging in her voice. “No, you weren’t thinking! You only thought about how your genitalia would feel inside that warm cu –!”

                   “That’s enough!” Never had Neal sounded so enraged before. He stood, towering over Dr. Perello as he stared at her in cold fury. His hands were clenched by his sides, hard enough that they were shaking. Christa felt as if she had been slapped. Horror and shock flowed through her veins, and she fought the urge to vomit. Dr. Perello was not yet finished though.

                   “I have thought about what to do about this situation, Dr. Hudson.” Her voice was slightly calmer now, although there was still anger in her voice. “You give me no choice. You’re fired.”

                   The anger and color drained from Neal’s face. He opened his mouth, but what only came out was a croak.

                   “What…?”

                   “You heard me.” Dr. Perello’s voice was icy, and her eyes were hard as she stared at the identical expressions of dismay on both of the doctor’s faces. “You’re fired. It is against the rules to involve yourself with a resident, Dr. Hudson, and I cannot allow _this_ –” Dr. Perello’s arm gestured to Christa carelessly with an expression of familiar disgust, "to continue.” Disappointment filtered across her face. “I _cannot_ have a scandal in my ER, and the rules –”

                   “Then the rules are wrong!” Neal suddenly bellowed. His face was twisted in rage as he stared at the ER director who had the same fury in her expression. Christa took her hand into his own and started to absently stroke his fingers with her thumb, calming him slightly. “Then the rules are wrong,” Neal repeated more calmly. “I love her –”

                   “Love?” Dr. Perello’s voice and face were cold. “What do you know of love? All I see –”

                   “Enough to know that even if you do go through with this, Dr. Perello, I will love Christa. Even if you tear us apart, I will always love her.” Neal stood, Christa’s fingers still entwined in his hands as he stared hard at the director. “Go ahead. _Nothing_ you do can separate us!” The sentence echoed throughout the room, ragged breaths coming from Neal as Dr. Perello stared at both of them. For a moment, anger started to grow in her eyes before shaking her head at the attending in disappointment.

                   “I thought that when I met you, Dr. Hudson, I thought you would be able to be the doctor I thought you were and not led around by your testosterone and penis.” She sighed. “I was wrong. You have ruined yourself, Dr. Hudson. I hope you realize that.”

                   “ _Ruined_ him?” Now Christa spoke, so much rage in her voice that it shook. She stood, her hand in Neal’s as she spoke with more rage than she thought possible. “We found each other, Dr. Perello. We _found_ each other in the darkest place possible in Angels, and I _love_ Neal. I love him,” she repeated, her voice starting to become louder and hoarser. “And he loves me.” Christa gave a ragged breath, her hand unconsciously holding her stomach. “And I know that he loves this baby.”

                   “Your _baby_ ,” Dr. Perello stated scathingly, “is only the size of a bean.”

                   “We all were once,” Christa stated. “Now look at you.” She had no recollection of what she had said until the female ER director’s face whitened. Christa inwardly swallowed, feeling Neal’s hand on her lower back at the corner of her mind as Dr. Perello glared at them.

                   “What did you say?” Her voice was dangerously calm, but the blond could hear the rage increasing with every breath she took. “What did you say?” she repeatedly asked, her voice losing its calm.

                   “I won’t allow you to speak to Christa this way, Dr. Perello.” Neal’s voice was quiet but controlled. His face was a mask of cold rage as he and Christa once stared at the woman they once respected.

                   Neal’s pager started to ring, but as Neal reached for it, the pager was snatched from his hand and thrown against the wall. It broke, into small pieces almost like debris as Neal stared at the director in shock.

                   “You no longer work here, Dr. Hudson, so you will not need that.” There was a slight smug look on Dr. Perello’s face, and Neal’s jaw clenched as the director continued to speak. “I want you to leave.” Dr. Perello stated lowly. Her long hair slightly went into her eyes, but it did not hide the shaking of her hands as she spoke. “I want you to leave now, Dr. Hudson. You need to find a plane tonight.”

                   Christa’s heart stopped. “Tonight?” she whispered, the word losing its meaning as she stared at the director.

                   “You should have thought about that before you shagged her!” Her voice was sharp and echoed throughout the room as the director stared at the motionless doctors. Neal was trying hard to not speak, and Christa swallowed thickly, the anger unsettling in her stomach. The female director paused, slightly calming as she stared at the two.

“Tonight,” the female director repeated. She stared hard at Neal, who was trying not to shake. “If you do not leave tonight, Dr. Hudson, I assure you that there will no place in California that will accept you.”

                   Her voice was strangely emotionless, as if the rage and fury had been spent. Dr. Perello stared hard at them. “Since you are now longer a doctor here, Dr. Hudson, you are free to leave whenever you like.” Her eyes glanced at Christa’s, and the blond resident had never thought she had seen such cold eyes. “And Dr. Lorenson, I expect to see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

                   Christa could only nod, seeing the director waiting for them to leave. Neal’s hand seemed faintly grasping her own, as if he was no longer with her. She could faintly see the stunned look and growing despair on his face.

                   “There’s no way…” he rasped, the emotion filling his voice as he stared at Christa. His eyes blinked, growing large as the attending continued to struggle. “There’s…no way that I can pack… I –” The shock and despair grew into sorrow, and Neal swallowed heavily as he stared at the ceiling.

                   “Come home with me?” was his only answer, and Christa could nod as both of them exited the ER.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sadness begins here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost cried so many times writing this it's not even funny. 
> 
> Ever since I read Iris_Celeno's first work, I have taken the headcanon that Neal fell for Christa in 1x05. I apologize if I took anything that belonged to your amazing work. (Better than this small side-work of mine.)

                                                                                       _Chapter Three_

 

           The world seemed to echo faintly across their senses as Christa and Neal entered the apartment. For a moment, Neal’s hand continued to grasp Christa’s own, so gentle and barely touching her skin, as opposed to crushing her hands in his own...which was what Christa wanted. Soon, far too soon, Neal would be leaving. Gina Perello’s words echoed in the blond resident’s ears, and the resident took a risk and glanced at Neal.

              Neal was looking at her, his expression subdued but kind as he gently bent down and kissed her forehead. He wasn’t as pale as he had been when Dr. Perello had fired him. The devastation of the knowledge that he was no longer an attending at the place which he considered home – that _both_ of them considered home – had slightly faded. Still, the pain was vivid in his dark brown eyes, and Neal swallowed thickly before pressing his forehead against hers.

              It was a sign of affection that meant so much to both of them.

              “I’m sorry,” was Neal’s only rasp.

              “What?” Christa’s voice slightly shook, and her blue eyes widened at the devastated look on Neal’s face.

              “If...we had just waited until next year...” Neal whispered, the agony drowning in his voice as his haunted eyes bored into Christa’s own. “You and I wouldn’t be here now if –”

              Christa pulled his face towards her and lowered her lips onto his. Slowly, lovingly, she kissed him. After a couple of moments of feeling her lips against his own, Christa pulled away and allowed their foreheads to touch again.

              “I don’t regret anything,” she whispered fervently. “You hear me?” A faint sob built in her throat as she felt Neal’s agonized, beautiful eyes bore into her own. “It was _choice_ , Neal. Ever since that day at breakfast...I have never regretted anything.” Christa remembered that day almost as vividly as if it had happened seconds before. For some reason, her memories with Neal had that effect on her. Christa remembered of how surprised he had looked to see her at the restaurant, still wearing his dark blue scrubs as she was wearing her street clothes. The number of Bloody Marys they had, exactly. Seven. Of how she had heard him laugh for the first time, and of how...now, standing so closely with him, she realized that was the moment when she began to fall in love with him.

              “It was a choice of no regrets,” Christa whispered. She felt Neal’s fingers stroke her blond hair, and felt his warm breath across her face as she leaned in to kiss him again.

              “No regrets,” Neal repeated, his voice still thick with emotion, his hands still caressing her hair as he closed his eyes and breathed. “I want...to not waste any more time than what we have,” he whispered somewhat stronger now. His hands continued to gently stroke her hair until they cupped her face. “Come to bed with me, love.”

              The endearment almost caused Christa to shed tears, knowing well that it wasn’t like Neal to use endearments such as this. Her soulful eyes blinked, and she allowed him to lead her to their bed. They made love slowly, gently. Every caress and kiss was tender, loving, and gentle. Christa could see every emotion Neal felt, every loving feeling they had for each other translating across their bodies. When he came inside of her, Christa felt tears flow from her cheeks, staining across her skin even as Neal tenderly kissed the tears away. Neither of them moved from each other, feeling the same sense of closeness and not wanting to let it go.

              “I like you like this,” Christa confessed as they both caressed each other’s hair. “So close to me...as if you would never let me go. Stay with me,” the blond faintly pleaded.

              Neal’s only reply was a loving kiss, biting her bottom lip as both of their tears started to fall.

              “Have you ever felt fear before...fear so deep and dark you thought it would never go away?”

              Christa was lying across from Neal, their hands intertwined as he began to stroke her fingers with his thumb. Her right hand was lying across his chest, stroking the skin softly as Neal turned toward her. The peaceful expression on his face slightly disappeared as he began to speak, his voice slightly husky and his accent thicker than normal as expression became somber.

              “It was when we thought there was a quarantine. My mother was sick...and I still remember you wearing the protective gown that was torn off you because a patient couldn’t breathe.” Christa’s heart leapt at his words, and she stared at the genuine look of affection on his face. “When it was torn away from you, thinking that you could be exposed to whatever contagion that the patients had...I panicked.” Neal paused and continued to stroke Christa’s slim fingers, his touch gentle and soft as he stared at her hands. As if it was something precious. “It was as if the world had vanished in that moment, and that you were the only human being in that room. Seeing your brave, beautiful face trying to tell me a joke was beyond intoxicating.” A small smile framed Neal’s face, and his fingers moved to touch her cheek. “So much fear and panic, at the thought of you being exposed. I should have been thinking about my mother, or any of the other patients. But my only focus was on you, Christa.” Her name felt sweet coming from his lips, almost feeling like a faint prayer as Neal softly kissed her mouth. “The day that could have gone to hell was the day I fell for you.”

              “You loved me...even then?” Christa whispered, tears building in her eyes as Neal nodded. She closed her eyes to gather her emotions, but it seemed to her filter had ceased to exist from the moment those words echoed from Neal’s mouth. Her tears fell, slightly going into her mouth as she heaved a breath and spoke quietly.

              “I always thought my greatest fear had been when my son was diagnosed with cancer, and then when he died.” Christa’s voice was heavy with grief, and she blinked back her tears as Neal began to caress her fingers again. “But now I realize that the greatest fear...the one that would rob me of my breath and my life, making me feel so cold and alone...” Her face crumbled, and Christa began to caress her stomach, hitching to a small sob when Neal’s hands covered her own. She opened her mouth to breathe, and she felt Neal’s warmth soothe her as he began to caress her stomach gently, his gentle eyes never moving from the place where both of their hands laid.

              “Is losing you,” Christa whispered. “I will never tire of saying this, Neal.” She cupped his face with her hands and kissed him, soundly, making certain that he understood of how _much_ he meant to her. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

* * *

 

              Neal carefully moved himself from Christa, glancing at her for a brief tender moment before he sighed. She was asleep now. His hand took a strand of her blond hair, and his kissed it softly, reluctantly letting go as Neal stared at Christa’s angelic face. The stress and grief of what had only occurred that morning had eventually caused the blond resident to fall asleep. _“I love you,”_ she kept on repeating, as if she would never be able to say it again to him, as if he didn’t _know_ every moment of every waking day that she loved him as much as he loved her. _“I love you.”_

Those three words had been repeated until Christa fell asleep, with Neal holding her in his arms. His thoughts, although still on the woman in his arms, strayed to the reason why he was fired from the only place he considered as home after leaving England so long ago. The attending had been shocked when Christa had showed up at Angles, knowing that she should be resting, and his concern grew as the woman he loved began to cry. _“I’m pregnant, Neal.”_ For a moment, the ER doctor hadn’t known what to think. He had only felt his shock turn to concern for Christa as he held her in his arms, murmuring to her that it was okay. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had time to truly talk to Christa about her pregnancy when they were called to Gina Perello’s office. The rage of how Christa had been treated by the ER director burned a hole in Neal’s stomach, and it only grew as he remembered of how he had been fired because of decision that neither he, nor Christa, regretted. Now Neal had time to truly process that there would be, in seven months of time, a baby to care for.

              A baby consisting of his and Christa’s genetic material. A sudden, happy smile caressed his face then at the thought. _I would never want to have a child with anyone else,_ he thought.

              _A baby..._ Neal continued to think as he stood in front of the door in front of him. Although his heart wanted to remain with Christa, the dark-haired ER doctor knew that it was his responsibility to tell the landlady of his apartment that he was leaving. Especially regarding their relationship. He wondered vaguely if his own father had felt this sense of joy and slight awe when his mother had been pregnant with him. _It’s stunning. And, I feel –_

“Nel!”

              His smile widened at the familiar feeling of hands encircling his waist.

              “It’s good to see you too, Sophie.” At the sound of her name, the figure stared up at him and beamed. Her dark hair slightly waved around her forehead, and her hazel eyes glowed with happiness at the sight of Neal. Clearing his throat briefly, Neal asked, “Is your grandmother in? I need to speak with her.”

              The eleven-year old girl nodded, missing the serious expression across Neal’s face as she turned and called for her grandmother. Neal took a moment to observe the small apartment. There wasn’t much surrounding the room, only two small chairs and a table used for meals. His dark eyes wandered over to the pictures on the wall, smiling slightly at a picture of a four-year old Sophie with a younger Neal holding her hand. Her grandmother, tall and wiry, was standing beside them against the scenery of the small park they used to visit when Sophie had been small. Neal’s thoughts were interrupted with a small tap on his shoulder, and a bigger smile caressed his lips at the elderly woman standing in front of him.

              As always, Beatrice Harper went straight to the point.

              “Why are you here, my dear boy?”

              Neal sighed. He willed himself to not meet her sharp blue eyes, still missing nothing even at the age of eighty-five. “I was fired, Beatrice. From Angles,” he supplied even though he knew that she knew fully well what he meant. “The ER director found out about my relationship with Christa.” Neal’s dark eyes wandered over to Beatrice’s expression, which was pensive as Neal continued to explain. “I now only have tonight before I have to find a position somewhere else.”

              “Rubbish,” Beatrice immediately said, and Neal allowed himself a small smirk at the sound of familiar British slang that he only heard from her. Nine years living in a small apartment in Los Angeles hadn’t caused her accent to fade, and Neal remembered of how he thanked whoever was watching over him that there was someone who was from England living in near his flat – in the early years in Angles, the attending had been grateful that he could use whatever British slang he wanted and not have to explain to the other residents or Leanne Rorish what he was talking about. It was through this elderly woman who had made the sudden move to Los Angeles from London to raise her granddaughter that Neal met the current eleven-year old Sophie. She had been very small, only two years old with wide hazel eyes and wavy dark hair, a girl who normally didn’t speak and was content to live in her own world.

              Neal remembered of how she had run to him after they had first met, trying to say his name but failing. The then-resident had laughed and patted the toddler’s head, telling her that it was okay if she called him Nel, which was the only way she could pronounce his name. Even now that Sophie knew what Neal’s name truly was, she still called him by her childhood nickname. She adored him, and through his interactions with her, Neal came to suspect that the little girl had autism. He had confided in Beatrice, and the evaluation concluded that Sophie did have autism, Asperger’s Syndrome. He was the one she talked to when she couldn’t talk to her grandmother about someone making fun her, and her anxiety about everything; from how everything had to just so and that she hated that everyone in her class was so noisy.

 _“You’re my only friend, Nel.”_ She had been seven years old.

             Neal had listened as Sophie talked about her obsessions, ranging from cats to her grandmother’s England, and history. It was still history. Specifically, British history. Neal remembered when laughter had bubbled in his stomach when Sophie had told him that she had dressed up as Eleanor of Aquitaine last year for Halloween, but no one in class had no idea who she was. _“Not even the teacher,”_ Sophie had exclaimed to him in his mobile as if that was impossible. Neal had been off that day, and he remembered Sophie’s gleeful laughter at the sight of Neal wearing a suit of armor and a plastic sword by his side. _“Take my hand, my lady,”_ Neal had replied to the beaming ten-year old as he kneeled down on his left knee.

              _“You’re supposed to say “‘your ladyship,’” Nel!”_

“The board has already been notified,” Neal replied as the memories disappeared into his mind again. “They would have fired me anyway, Beatrice,” he stated to the elderly woman was frowning. “With or without the ER director’s approval.”

              “So that is it then?” Neal stared at the elderly woman. “You’re going off to no-man’s-land and leave that poor bird to defend by herself?”

              “I’m going to apply to a hospital in Nevada,” Neal replied despite the disapproval on Beatrice’s face. “It’s only an hour away by plane, and there’s no time difference there, so I’ll be able to visit Christa as much as possible, and,” the ER doctor steeled himself, “when they baby arrives –”

              A sudden smile appeared on Beatrice’s face. Instead of the lecture he had been expecting, the elderly woman enveloped Neal in a hug.

              “A bairn, eh?” A small chuckle came from Beatrice as she continued to hug Neal. “You got lucky, dear boy. I suppose you are serious about this bird, this one?” Her smile widened when Neal nodded. “Good. Otherwise I would kill her if I had to see a broken hearted look on your face again after what happened with that Haiti girl.”

              “Um...Thank you,” Neal said somewhat uncertainly as he stared at Beatrice’s serious expression. _I can’t believe she is_ still _upset over what happened with Grace. It’s been four years now! Worse than my mother!_ “Take care of her for me when I’m gone, will you?” he asked.

              “I will,” Beatrice stated sincerely. “You know I will, Neal. Since you came here nine years ago, you have done nothing but good to Sophie and I.”

              “Are you leaving?” Neal and Beatrice sharply turned to find Sophie peeking from the small hallway leading to her room holding a book in her hand. “Nel? Are you really leaving?”

              Neal came over to Sophie, and crouched down until she was able to directly look at his face.

              “Yes, I am. But it won’t be far,” Neal reassured as Sophie’s bottom limp began to quiver. “I’ll come back, and we’ll be together again.”

              “Promise?” Sophie asked, her voice high and sounder much younger.

              “I promise,” Neal stated sincerely with a small smile. He suddenly felt Sophie embrace him hard, almost doubling him over as the book she had been holding fell on the ground.

              It was two minutes later that Sophie let go of him, and Neal could see her struggling to not look like a lost child as he began to walk away to his apartment upstairs. Beatrice’s hand held the dark-haired child’s, and Neal looked at the title of the book on the floor before closing the door behind him.

              _The Fall of the White Ship._

* * *

 

“What is the flight number again?”

              Christa was standing beside Neal, searching his face for the hope that his flight had been cancelled and that there would still be one more day that she could spend with him. Neal had been lying beside her when she woke up to find him clothed. _“There’s a landlady downstairs who will take care of you if you need anything,”_ Neal stated softly as he explained as he took Christa’s hand in his own. _“There’s also her granddaughter, Sophie, who I believe you will absolutely love.”_ For a moment, his hand stilled and his right hand began to stroke her cheek at Christa’s distressed expression. _“It’s going to be okay,”_ he reassured.

              “Flight 1120,” Neal replied. His dark eyes, orbs slightly gleaming, bored into Christa’s as he leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s only an hour away.”

              “I hardly have spent the last two years without even an hour between us,” Christa rasped. “Are you sure there’s no other way?” She whispered into Neal’s dark brown eyes.

              Neal didn’t respond. There was a heaviness on his face that hadn’t appeared before, and his entire body appeared to crumble when Christa buried her face in his chest.

              “I want to give you something,” Neal stated thickly. Christa’s swollen face turned toward his, and she found him searching for something in his pocket. “It was given to me by my mum when I came here...and I thought you should have this.”

It was on a thin golden chain that held a small blue orb. Christa stared at with amazement the orb the color of the ocean as it rested against Neal’s palm.

             “My grandfather owned a jewelry store in India before he came to England,” Neal explained as he began to move behind Christa. She felt his hands around her shoulders as the small chain rested against her neck. For a moment, Neal stared at the ocean-blue orb resting now against Christa’s chest. “It was the last piece of jewelry he ever made in India, and he gave it to my mother when she started medical school. It was his blessing,” Neal spoke faintly. “And before I came here to the States, my mother gave me this.” The dark-haired man swallowed as Christa felt a hard lump in her throat. “It was to show that she would always be with me, and...I want you to know that nothing will separate us. Christa.” Moisture began to gather in his eyes, and tears were running down Christa’s face despite telling herself that she would _not_ cry.

            “Nothing will separate us,” Neal continuously whispered as his arms began to envelop around her waist. “Nothing ever will.”

           “I love you,” Christa choked. She knew that her tears were soaking the material of Neal’s clothes – the same clothes he wore when they had left Angles on the day it had all began – but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that Neal was supposed to leaving, supposed to be boarding the plane now as the flight number was called, but she didn’t care. All Christa wanted was for Neal to be with her. “I love you, my darling Neal.”

            Christa felt her head being lifted up by Neal’s hand, seeing those eyes that she adored and loved so much drowning in so much pain and sorrow as he cradled her head. She flashed back to the moment when she saw Neal do this, to his mother, when he was afraid that she would never wake up.

            “I love you,” he said again, his voice impossibly shaking harder than it had been one that night. “I love you so much.” His hand, gentle and warm, came to Christa’s stomach. “Both of you.”

            He was crying. Their tears mixed in with each other’s, leaking onto their bare skin as their desperate embrace continued. Neither of them wanted to let each other go.

           “Excuse me, sir, miss.” A reluctant TSA agent was struggling to hold back whatever emotion she had as she stared at the couple. “That...was the last call for the flight.”

           Neal leaned down and kissed Christa deeply. Every emotion, every _feeling_ they had for each other since the day the both individually fell in love, went into the kiss. A couple of seconds, or minute, or perhaps even a year later, they pulled apart.

          Tears were trailing down Neal’s face, and Christa was quietly sobbing as Neal leaned his forehead against hers.       

          “My grandfather used to always say this to my mother. “ _‘Entah noor aeny.’”_ I never...” Neal swallowed, and he gently brushed away Christa’s tears despite his own tears trailing down his cheeks. “I never knew what it meant until I met you.”

        “What does it mean?” Christa whispered, her swollen eyes meeting Neal’s broken face.

         “It means...you are the light of my eyes in Arabic.” Neal closed his eyes and softly kissed Christa on the forehead, then the nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips.

          “It means that you are the dearest thing to me.”

          “Final call for flight 1120!”

         “I have to go,” Neal whispered. Even though her heart was screaming, Christa nodded. Her tears continued to fall as she watched as Neal pulled out his plane ticket and was scanned. His eyes met hers for one last time, so full of love, pain, and sorrow, before he entered the gate to Flight 1120.

 _Neal..._ Christa thought desperately as she squeezed her eyes shut to contain the bleeding in her heart. _Neal...please. Don’t leave me._

         There was no answer to her silent cry.

         Christa had no idea how she made it home. When she opened the door to the apartment – _theirs_ , and now missing such a precious piece – Christa’s legs weakened and she lied on the floor. Her mind seemed empty. It continued to reject that Neal was no longer in this room, where they had first made love, where she had whispered to him there was no time for him to cook her breakfast, where they had laughed and talked the morning away, where both of them held each other after a disastrous code black, with a little girl dying, or a son crying out that he was sorry, he was _so_ sorry that he couldn’t make his father proud as they died, tears and choked words escaping from them both. Christa moved onto the bed – _their_ bed – and the screaming inside of her caused her chest to squeeze. Tears began to stream from her eyes, swollen and warm. They didn’t stop. The pain didn’t stop. The only relief came when Christa fell into exhausted slumber.

       She awoke only an hour later, Her limbs felt heavy and detached from her body. Her eyes were almost swollen shut, and Christa licked her lips, feeling the dryness of her throat. _Dr. Perello said that I have to appear first thing in the morning,_ Christa thought as she remembered the ER director’s words. Nothing more would she just like to stay here, but the thought of continuously feeling the gap in her heart was enough to force her out of bed and slowly start to put on her scrubs.

      Christa felt distant as she walked into the doorway to Angles’ ER. It felt surreal, somehow. The activity that she was seeing at corner of her eyes and the beating of her heart felt so impossibly distant as she began walking to Center Stage.

       “Christa?” The blond turned, and found herself staring at a stunned Leanne Rorish. “What are you doing here?”

        “What do you mean?” Even her voice felt distant. It rasped, and it didn’t sound like her at all. “Dr. Perello wanted me in today.” Sudden movement caused her eyes to travel to where a group of people were standing. “What’s going on?” Nurses, doctors, and even some rebellious patients were staring at the television screen. Everyone appeared to be too shocked to realize that patients were not supposed to get up from their assigned beds. Christa could see Leanne Rorish at the corner of her eye, the older doctor’s eyes staring at the screen as they widened in shock.   

        It was a fire. Christa moved closer. No, she realized, as her eyes came to focus on the gigantic flames. It was… A structure was burning.

        Suddenly, red words flashed across the screen.

        FLIGHT 1120 IS DOWN. REPEAT, FLIGHT 1120 IS DOWN.

         For a single, miraculous moment, Christa did not understand. She stared blankly at the screen, staring the fire and flames, the burning husk of the plane that had… Suddenly, her mind shifted.

_“What flight is it again?”_

_“Flight 1120.”_

         Christa could feel Leanne’s hand grasp her arm. The third year resident’s eyes were still staring blankly at the screen.

         “Christa?” Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her breathing started to become rapid as the burning image echoed in her mind, her hands starting to shake. Breathing became laborious as Christa realized what had happened. _Oh God._ Christa thought as she thought she heard Leanne telling her to breathe, then shouting for her to look at her and describe what she was seeing. _Oh…God…_ Her vision began to fade, and her breathing choked into sharp gasps of pain as she faintly, heard shouting against her ears.

          Leanne Rorish caught Christa as the resident collapsed in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add Mike to this and other characters as well, but in your opinion, should I also add Grace and/or Rosaline?


	4. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

 

            _Seven hours earlier…_

_Leanne Rorish pulled open the door to Gina Perello’s office, where the door closed with a bang. The residency director had her hands firmly at her sides, although anyone that knew Leanne could tell that she was angry._

_No, she was almost beyond anger at this point._

_“Will you tell me what the hell is going on?” Leanne stated through gritted teeth. The ER doctor had paged Neal countless times hours earlier, but received no response. It was absolutely not like him to not respond to a page, and if Leanne knew anything about her former student, it was that he was dedicated. Even when Christa, who was currently sick and out of work, was Neal’s entire world, Leanne knew without a doubt that Neal would tell her if he had to miss a day. “Dr. Hudson didn’t respond to his pager. I had to teach the residents a new procedure when_ you _out of all people know how qualified –”_

_“With all due respect, Leanne, Dr. Hudson does not work here anymore.”_

_“What?” Leanne stated sharply, as if being shocked. She stared at Gina Perello, who calmly had her hands clasped together and looking at her with something close to pity. The small office suddenly seemed to close around the older doctor as the information repeated echoed in her head. “What do you mean, not work here anymore, Gina?” Leanne’s voice was growing in anger. “Neal –”_

_“–Has broken the rules regarding fraternizing between attendings and residents.” The young ER director looked smug, a slight challenging look in her eyes as she stared at Leanne._

_“Is that was this is about?” Leanne asked. A small, bubble of laughter emerged in her chest at the incredulous situation. Inwardly, she shook her head. Leanne’s eyes followed the ER director’s, before narrowing. She moved forward until her hands were against the corners of the desk, and stared resolutely at the slightly defiant expression Gina Perello had._

_“Let me tell you something, Gina Perello.” Leanne’s voice was quiet, Her eyes burned. “Did you think I didn’t know? You don’t know the ER as well as you think you do.” Contempt faintly coated her voice. “Even the janitors knew of the relationship between Neal and Christa.” Leanne bit her lip at the small banter she had overheard one day as the janitors were cleaning up, her interest peaking at the sound of the two names she knew of. Leanne had smiled softly at the janitors’ light banter about the relationship between the older resident and the English doctor, chuckling when the youngest started making a bet when they two would “seal the deal.” Leanne slightly heaved a breath at the anger still surfacing in her chest. “Everyone knew._ Every _single person knew. Except you.” Leanne’s hands released their pressure on the desk, and the residency director looked at the younger woman with disappointment. “I thought better of you, Dr. Perello.”_

_“The board agreed with me,” stated the low voice. “There’s nothing you can do.”_

_“You’re a child,” Leanne barked. The comment stunned Perello, as if she had been slapped. “I saw the way you stared at him sometimes, and this is_ not _a high school drama. You sent the best ER doctor that we have not because he was having a relationship with a resident, but because you couldn’t have him.”_

_Perello’s face colored red with rage. “How dare you –” she choked._

_“There will be consequences because of this,” Leanne stated further as she glared at the woman she had once grudgingly respected. Her mind darkened at the thought of Christa’s saddened expression. The residency director was about to turn away, when the fellow director stood._

_“I gave them time to say goodbye,” was the resolute reply._

_Leanne gave Perello a look of which she hoped to did not convey the loathing she had for this woman. “There is never enough time to say goodbye,” she whispered. Then, without looking back, Leanne Rorish walked out of the office._

* * *

 

The words she had stated hours before echoed within her mind as she attempted to hold a collapsed Christa in her arms. Leanne had no idea why the third-year resident was in Angles in the first place, and then remembered her own agony after the accident that had almost taken her life. For some reason, the blond resident started to hyperventilate from the image on the screen. It was of a burning plane, the numbers echoing hollowing in Leanne’s head as she tried to tell Christa to look at her. The resident was too far gone to understand anything that Leanne had been currently shouting at her, hearing the sharp gasps from Christa’s lips as the younger woman suddenly collapsed in her arms.

            “Jesse!” Leanne called. Her friend appeared immediately by her side, and the senior nurse shouted for a gurney at the image of one of his residents collapsed in the dark-haired doctor’s arms. “Thank you,” Leanne whispered as both she and Jesse gently lifted Christa onto the gurney. Leanne had barely started moving the gurney into the ER when she saw a familiar figure running towards them.

            “Christa?” Malaya’s voice was shocked, and she stared with wide eyes as she stared at Jesse and Leanne. “What’s going on? Why is Christa on a gurney?”

            “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Leanne stated grimly as she continued to look at the television screen. The attention had now focused onto what had happened to Christa, and Leanne cursed under her breath.

            At that moment, Mario and Angus entered the ER, each carrying the familiar red binder in hand.

            “Christa?” Angus immediately leaned over the collapsed resident as Mario’s dark eyes shocking stared at the fellow resident.

            Ignoring them, Leanne bent over and took a pulse check.

            _Her numbers don’t show any sign of distress now._ “Christa,” the older doctor stated clearly. “Can you squeeze my hand for me?”

* * *

 

             The voice sounded so far away.

            “Christa,” it seemed to say, “Can you squeeze my hand for me?” The blond resident almost didn’t want to open her eyes. What had happened? The last thing she remembered was…

            “Neal!” Christa gasped, abruptly sitting up as the bright lights of the ER suddenly surrounded her. He wide blue eyes, suddenly unfocused and vacant, stared at the faces surrounding her. _Where is…?_ The burning image of not being able to breathe as she stared at the burning debris of the plane shocked her mind then, and then it all came back. “Neal…” Christa whispered, a vacant and raspy voice tearing from her mouth. “Oh God…Neal…” Her face crumpled, and her eyes started to burn. Her breath caught in her throat. “N-neal…!” A choked sob escaped from her lips.

            “Christa.” Dr. Rorish’s voice remained calm as the blond resident loss of control accelerated as sharp gasps were quickly emerging from Christa’s open mouth. “Christa, I need you to breathe.” The other residents weren’t able to move, only able to stare at the gasping woman. “I know this is very hard, but I need you to tell me what happened.”

            “The p-plane…” Christa gasped as tears fell from her eyes. Another burning gasp tore from her, and Christa’s hands curled to try to maintain whatever control she had left. “The plane…he…was on t-the plane!”

            “The plane?” Dr. Rorish repeated, trying not to stare at the tears dampening the sheets.

            Christa could only nod as she felt herself losing whatever control she had left. A soft cry was building in her throat, but she bit her lip, hard, as she tried to stare at Dr. Rorish through her tears. Sobs were starting to build in her throat, and Christa’s hands started to tremble as she felt the familiar feeling of not being able to take a breath.

            _Neal…_ The thought of his name made Christa want to curl up into a small ball and sob. _Neal…my Neal…Please…you can’t be…_

_You can’t be dead._

Christa soon felt the tightening in her chest to be agonizing. She couldn’t breathe. Leanne was talking to her, quietly, soothingly, as sweat started to coat her palms. _Please…_ Why did she feel that there was a scream, a ghastly, inhuman scream, in her throat?

            _You can’t be!_

“I need Diazepam, STAT!” Leanne shouted as Christa’s lips started to turn blue. “Mario –”

            “She can’t have Diazepam!” Christa’s heart almost stopped at the sound of _that_ voice. Her grieved eyes started at the stunned form of Gina Perello. “She can’t have Diazepam,” the ER director repeated as she stared stunned at Christa. “She’s pregnant.”

            Leanne turned sharply to Christa.

            “Is this true, Christa?” Her voice was gentle, exceedingly so.

            But Christa’s attention was not on Dr. Rorish. Her red-rimmed eyes followed Gina Perello’s.

            “You…” Christa choked. _“You…”_

“I’m sorry,” Gina Perello stated as she stared at a trembling Christa. “If I –”

            “No.” Christa’s voice shook, in terrible rage as she stared at the widening stare of the dark-haired director. “You’re not…sorry. _You_ …” Christa choked back a sob. “Sent him away!”

            “I never meant –”

            Christa’s throat screamed as she started to yell. “You… _k-killed him._ A-and…now…” Sobs, increasing as the salty bitterness reached Christa’s mouth, poured out of her broken heart. Uneven gasps came from her as her hands trembled so much she couldn’t even touch them to make them stop. “A-and now…he’s _dead! Gone! Burned_ like…” Christa’s voice collapsed as a sob forced from her throat. “I should have told him,” she hoarsely whispered as her tears started to fall at a faster rate, as the heart inside continued to _bleed_. “So many thing…I should have _told_ him…”

            “Neal…” Christa sobbed as her breathing continued to uneven. “Oh My God…My Neal…” She felt someone’s hands on her back, rubbing circles as her breathing turned into sharp, rasping gasps. “Neal…!” Her voice almost reached to a scream as she said the one precious name. “I can’t breathe,” Christa half-moaned, half-whimpered as naked _fear_ surged within her. “I…c-can’t _breathe!”_

“Get me an oxygen mask! And an ultrasound!” Dr. Rorish barked, the residents departing from the gurney. “Christa.” The older doctor held her face in her hands. “Breathe, Christa!” An unfocused look appeared in Christa’s eyes. “If not for you,” Dr. Rorish stated softly, “for the baby.”

            “Look at me.” The oxygen mask was put around her face, and Christa could feel the sweet oxygen fill her lungs as Malaya began to lift her tear-soaked scrubs from her naked stomach. “Look at me, Christa.” The two women who had lost so much stared at each other with their eyes, Christa’s chest slowly losing its fierce grip as she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

            None of the residents would leave Christa’s side as the grieving resident fell into unconsciousness. Malaya was staring at the ultrasound screen as if the image was still there, an embryo of about eight weeks still there despite the heavy stress its mother had previously. Angus’ blue eyes remained on Christa, his expression sorrowful as he stared at the tear-stains and red-rimmed eyes. Mario was staring blankly ahead, his hands running through his hair, as if he was still unable to grasp what was happening.

            “Follow me,” Leanne whispered. None of the residents said a word as she led them to the break room, Jesse staying behind as the nurse softly held Christa’s hand. Mario was the first to speak as soon as the door closed, his shocked expression turning to rage.

            “What the hell just happened there?” He yelled, the dark eyes not noting the small warning in Leanne’s stance as the rage continued to boil. “What the hell just happened that caused… _this_?”

            Angus’ voice was quiet. “Was Dr. Hudson really on that plane?”

           “According to Christa,” Leanne stated with her familiar distance and matter-of-fact tone, “Dr. Hudson…Neal, was on that plane that crashed. There’s,” now she cleared her voice to stop the emotion from appearing in her voice. “Likely no survivors. Neal was fired by the ER director because of his relationship with Christa, and –”

            “Even dermatology probably knows about their relationship!” Mario yelled. The anger didn’t recede, but continued to grow as the dark-haired resident stared darkly at the ground.

            “It doesn’t make any sense,” Angus whispered as he stared at Leanne with shocked blue eyes. He licked his lips, and paused for a long time before speaking again. “They were so professional that we didn’t even know about their relationship until a year ago.”

            “It doesn’t have to do with that, Angus.” Malaya stated. Although anger was heard in her voice, her hands were kept by her sides even though they were clenched. “It has to do with that Gina Perello didn’t get what she wanted.”

            As Angus stared at his fellow resident incredulously, Mario gave an ironic laugh.

            “No wonder she called him Prince Charming.”

            The silence was heavy enough to cut with a scalpel, and Leanne closed her eyes for a moment as Angus’ whispered voice echoed in the empty room.

            “So…” He swallowed, the agony showing across his expression. “What do we do now?”

            Leanne was about to speak, but suddenly found herself unable to. She looked down, and was shocked to find that her hands were lightly shaking. Her hands hadn’t shaken since… The dark-haired residency director pulled away from that thought, and cleared her throat.

            “We…” Her voice failed her for a moment. “We continue on,” Leanne stated somewhat stronger, “to save whatever lives we…can.”

            The entire day was haze, and when it ended, Leanne noted that her hands were still shaking.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy I could update this story again after such a long hiatus! I hope to update this story more regularly, as in once a week, but please bear with me if there isn't a chapter for two weeks! Please share your thoughts about this chapter, so that way I know what you liked.

_Chapter Five_

“Jesse.”

              Senior nurse Jesse Sallander’s heart froze at the sight of those blue eyes. Normally, those eyes would be basking in warmth. The empathy and compassion that defined their Dr. Lorenson was missing like an empty gap. Jesse had seen many terrible tragedies throughout his decades at Angels; children orphaned from a car crash, two young lives ended from drug over dosage; and still, in his mind, a young transgendered thirteen-year old who had been stabbed in an alleyway, pronounced dead on arrival. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

              _Neal…mi hijo…_ There was a sudden emptiness in the nurse’s chest, knowing now that one of his residents was dead. Former resident perhaps; it had been years since Neal had been a resident. The grief and horrifying desperation that Jesse had seen their Dr. Lorenson have, hearing the broken voice again and again in his mind as the woman who had lost the man she loved state that she couldn’t breathe, brought him back to another time. Instead of Dr. Christa Lorenson, Jesse saw the hollow eyes of his friend. Dead and broken, losing all that mattered to her. _Never again,_ Jesse told himself as his dark brown eyes broke from the resident’s eyes and to her face. _Never again, I promised myself._

_That I would never see such a face on my people again._

“Jesse.”

              Christa’s voice was barely audible, a faint whisper among the once-soothing sounds of the ER. Now to Jesse’s ears, it seemed that the ER had faded. The Puerto Rican managed to only focus on Christa. The blond seemed so small, even though she was not turned to him like of how Leanne reacted when… Jesse softly sighed, the memory of Christa losing unconsciousness haunting his mind. Normally for such stress, they would administer diazepam. _She’s going to have a baby._ A long time ago it seemed, Jesse had wondered when his two residents would give him a grandchild. Jesse had held Christa’s limp hand, staring at her pale face with an oxygen mask as he had seen the image on the ultrasound. A hard lump appeared in his throat, and Jesse held in the renewed grief at the image of the eight-week old embryo. _Why did it have to be like this?_ Jesse had thought as he stared at the grieving unconscious woman he had come to know as one of his daughters. And his son…his oldest son, who had needed more care and love than most, was dead. Rare anger had boiled in Jesse’s stomach, but it had disappeared the moment Christa had called his name.

              The senior nurse knew what Christa was going to ask before she said those words.

              _“No, mi hija.”_ Jesse stated with firm gentleness. “You will stay here.”

              Christa suddenly seemed smaller to him then, strands of blond hair falling into her eyes as she gritted her teeth. As if to stop the inward pain from surging within her veins.

              “Please, Jesse.” The voice sounded so desperate, barely hanging on to any coregency as tears started to trail down her cheeks. “Please. I just want to go… _home_.” The lone word caused a faint jolt in Jesse’s heart as he saw Christa squeeze her eyes shut. He could almost taste the agony as the seconds passed. Tears fell onto the sheets. The light blue orb that was around Christa’s neck appeared to shine in the darkness of Jesse’s mind. _He must have given it to her before…_

              “Okay.” Jesse stated. He pretended to not hear of how his voice cracked, at the image of how _alone_ Christa looked. “Okay,” he repeated. As if that was enough to hide the agony in both of their hearts.

              None of them spoke as Jesse drove Christa to Neal’s apartment. It was a heavy silence, one that Jesse knew that he should speak but couldn’t find any words to say. _To say “I’m sorry,” wouldn’t be enough,_ the senior nurse thought as he saw the blond resident slowly – almost limping – to the place where she lived with Neal. Hearing the words from her lips, that Neal was dead from a decision beyond his control, _burning_ in flames…was enough to tear apart any control Jesse had left. _To say those words is never enough,_ the nurse thought as he attempted to breathe. The small _“thank you”_ Christa had given to him echoed in his mind. It was hard to breathe, although Jesse knew that this grief – yes, that is what is was that kept his lungs from getting adequate oxygen – was nothing like the heart attack he had two years ago, the senior nurse felt as if he was having another one.

              Only, the pain would increase with every second his heart kept beating.

* * *

              “You _what?”_

Leanne Rorish had never looked as terrifying as she did now. Jesse would have laughed at his predicament if didn’t feel like the very small boy he felt like now. Rage was building in Leanne’s eyes, and Jesse allowed himself to speak.

              “She needed time to be alone, Leanne.”

              “You imbecile.” Jesse flinched. There was no affection behind her barbed words now. “Being alone in the last thing Christa needs right now!” Leanne heaved her breath and ran her fingers through her hair. It was at the end of their shift, and Jesse had been in charge of watching Christa as she was unconscious. To be true, the blond resident had woken up a few hours before the end of the shift, but that did not make Leanne less pissed off.

              Jesse knew that the residents had not left yet. Even though he and Leanne were in the staff room, the senior nurse knew that those three were watching their not-so-friendly exchange.

              “Leanne –” Jesse tried.

              “You wouldn’t know what it was like Jesse, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand what Christa is going through.”

              _I do know,_ Jesse thought. But he didn’t say anything as Leanne walked away and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

               Dr. Leanne Rorish felt the rage inside her shaking limbs recede as the look in Jesse’s face bored into her mind. A moment of pain, and pure understanding framed his face – the face of her dear friend whom had been through so much with her. She was certain that he was feeling Neal’s…death as much as she, perhaps more. It physically hurt to think of the ER doctor as dead, but even more so, Leanne felt regret. Even when her husband and children died from the accident that took their lives, Leanne had regretted her actions this much. She knew that her husband children knew that she loved them. _Neal…_ she thought, remembering a long-ago memory. The young boy he had been echoed resolutely in her mind. If she had known that Dr. Neal Hudson would die nine years after he had started his residency at Angles, Leanne would have acted differently with the then-first year resident. She would have told Mark to block Gina Perello. Instead of humiliating the young doctor from England, taunting him and making him flinch with every decision he made – with the intention of having him being the best doctor he could be – Leanne would have let him in. She would have told him of how much she cared about him, of how she respected him for his decision to study emergency medicine. _Neal…_ Leanne bit her lip, thankful for that her hands had finally stopped shaking. Even as her mind tried to block the grief-torn memories, the image of Neal Hudson from nine years ago echoed in her mind.

              He had been so young. Full of doubt but with so much drive, with a young face and only slightly taller than her. His hair had been longer then, curling slightly along his neck. A relieved smile whenever he saw Jesse and Mike Leighton, the only people he believed understood him without trying to understand why a former surgical resident was doing studying emergency medicine. Leanne held back her tears, which she could feel trying to break free, as she remembered inwardly smiling at the sound of the first time she heard him laugh – when he was finally comfortable with her, understanding now that Dr. Leanne Rorish was not Dr. Peter Hudson.

              _Why is it always these times that we realize of how much one person means so much to us?_

The cell phone felt impossibly heavy in her hands. Leanne felt almost as if her family had died again, feeling the pull of grief as she pressed the numbers. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she _hoped_ that no one would answer.

              “Neal?” Leanne swallowed, her eyes blinking as she heard the familiar voice of Asra Hudson. _“She’s a neurosurgeon too, and a good one,”_ her son had stated one time with a wistful expression. _“I have no idea how she is married to my father…”_

“I recognize the number as coming from LA, but why are you calling at nine in the morning? I have a surgery in an hour.”

             Time seemed to stop.

             “Neal?”

             “My name is Dr. Leanne Rorish, and I was Neal’s mentor when he was a resident.” The words were often rehearsed in her mind, but it was nothing compared to reality. The world itself felt so far away, and Leanne could feel herself cracking as each deplorable word came from her mouth. “Dr. Hudson, there is something that I have tell you about your son. I'm so sorry…”


	6. Chapter Six

_Chapter Six_

A cloud of exhaustion exacerbated the grief pulling on her heart. She didn’t know how she managed to walk to the apartment that shared so much…of him. Christa swallowed her tears as a sharp pain collided against her chest. _Breathe,_ she told herself, _breathe._ She managed to breathe through her mouth as the pain steadily receded, closing her swollen eyes. _Thank God Jesse already left._ The third year resident was immensely grateful to the senior nurse. She understood the look in his eyes. _I…shouldn’t be alone right now._ The impact, the reality that Neal was gone and never coming back, had previously sent her into hyperventilation and unable to breathe. The grief was still stuck in her throat. _I just feel so tired._ Christa found herself collapsing onto the bed, on her side as she stared blankly at the empty space. A part of her wanted to brush that space, as if to reach for the one place that still belonged to Neal. _No,_ she thought, blinking her tears and emptiness away. _I…just want to go to sleep._ Christa closed her eyes and found a strange sense of relief as she left the nightmare behind.

              “Christa?” _That voice…_ The blond almost didn’t want to wake. The sound of her name echoed in her ears, pausing all thought as she attempted to remain calm. _It’s not real,_ she thought. _It’s not real,_ she continued to think as faint desperation clawed in her heart.

              But she opened her eyes.

              Neal was crouching above her, his forehead almost brushing against her own as Christa almost let out a strangled cry. Tears were building in her eyes at the sight. Neal…alive. She could feel him breathing, deep and _alive_ as his brown eyes looked in confusion as Christa’s shaking hands touched his cheek. Her fingers came in contact with warm skin, shaking still as Neal’s confusion heighted more at the sight of tears streaming from Christa’s eyes.

              _It’s truly real,_ the blond thought as tears continued to trail down her cheeks, coming fast and warm as they fell onto the sheets. She bit her lip, enough to almost break the tissue as she fought the urge to sob. _You’re here,_ the blond resident thought as her hands continued to shake as her eyes focused on the living and breathing Neal. _You’re not dead._

 _…Not_ dead.

              “Christa?” The blond woman could hear the escalating concern in his voice as his girlfriend apparently began to sob for no reason. “What’s wrong?”

              As for an answer, the female cupped Neal’s face in her hands and breathed deeply.

               She looked at him again. He was wearing the same clothes as before. But they were not burned. The eyes that she loved were not burned into nothingness, continuously staring at her stunned as Christa smiled as she cried.

               “Christa, why are you crying?” The sound of her name on his lips caused fresh tears to spill onto his lap, hearing his voice again. _I never thought I would hear your voice again. And…_ she thought, weaving the other hand through his thick, dark hair as her other cupped his face so gently, as if afraid that this was an illusion. _I never thought I would want to hear any other voice than yours._

_That…precious voice…_

             “Neal…” The attending looked deep into Christa’s eyes at the broken sound that came from her lips. “Neal...” It seemed to be the only thing she could say. For a while, the pain increased at the agonized look in Neal’s eyes. _He doesn’t know,_ Christa thought as her heartbeat slowed. Her tears continued to flow as she lowered her head on Neal’s shoulder, embracing him as her tears wet his neck. “You were dead,” she whispered hoarsely. “You _died,_ Neal.” Her breathing quickened as she embraced the man she loved fiercely. “Gina found out about us, and you had to… _leave_.” Christa bit back a sob at the memory, and she calmed as familiar gentle hands started to stroke her hair. _It’s okay,_ Neal was trying to tell her. _It’s okay, I am here._

           “You never came back,” came Christa’s almost inaudible words. She lifted her head from his shoulder and almost felt the worry bleeding through Neal. His hand began to caress her face, softly brushing away her tears.

          “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. His voice was slightly hoarse at the naked grief in Christa’s eyes. “I just came back from the store, Christa.” Neal’s dark brown eyes softened as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Gina didn’t fire me. I’m still here…and we should be happy, Christa.”

         He caressed her abdomen gently, his breathing slow and calming Christa as she looked deep into his eyes. _That’s right,_ Christa thought as looked at the beaming happiness in Neal’s gaze. _I’m pregnant._ Her hands entwined in his as a smile framed her face. The blond was surprised when Neal reached behind him and handed her a small object in her hands.

         A small laugh, almost coming out as a sob, emerged from her mouth at she stared at the small bunny in her hands. It was small, enough to fit in both of her hands. It wasn’t like most stuffed animals that Christa had seen before. It was pure white, with long ears that reached to its arms. Christa caressed the stuffed animal, feeling of how soft it was against her palms. Its beady black eyes stared at her, the light blue and purple ribbon around its neck causing Christa to smile lightly as she stared at the small feet.

          “I know it’s soon,” Neal said, sounding self-conscious as he stared at his girlfriend mesmerized by the stuffed animal. “But I had to get it even though it was expensive.”

         “I can already tell this is going to be the baby’s favorite toy,” Christa murmured softly. There was a slight wistful look in her eyes, still not believing that this was _real_ , and the living nightmare that she had experienced was only a dream. “I love you,” she stated.

           Neal smiled, his fingers reaching to comb in her hair again. A happy sigh eased from him, and Christa could feel his smile as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

           “I love you as well,” he whispered. Neal pulled Christa closer to him, his arms encircling around her waist. Slowly, his lips lowered to hers.

           It was a gentle kiss, their lips barely touching, but Christa could feel the _love_ and emotion through the simple action. Her lips started to move across his, never having felt so happy.

              “Christa –”

              She awoke alone.

No one was there.

              _No,_ she thought. Her eyes, once so beaming with happiness and love, started to tear as she realized what had happened. Christa was alone. It had felt so _real._ She could still feel Neal’s forehead pressed against her own, felt the warm skin as she caressed his cheek with her shaking hands. _No…_ she thought. She had heard his voice, so precious now, echoing his concern and talking about the stuffed white bunny he had bought for their unborn child. _Please…_ Christa’s tears pelted onto the sheets, the stains going into the fabric as her hands desperately sought anything to hold. Somehow her hands held her abdomen, clutching tightly as a sob tore from the pregnant woman’s throat. This was reality.

              Alone.

              Numb to all else except the grief and soundless screams that wanted to escape from her throat.

              _Neal…_

              How it be possible that he could be dead? How could it be true that Dr. Neal Hudson was dead, and Dr. Christa Lorenson was still alive, breathing, and carrying his child? Shakily, Christa stood. Her legs shook as she walked. Her empty heartbeat echoed in her ears. _I must be a mess,_ the blonde woman thought to herself as she managed to sit on the small couch. Unbidden memories resurfaced, remembering the times when she had sat with Neal on the same couch after an emotionally exhausting day, his chest against her back as he kissed her hair. It was a small apartment, hardly any room for one person. _“It was the only thing I could afford back then when I first came here, and by the time I had enough to rent a bigger apartment, I had grown too attached to this place.”_

Christa had asked him what he meant, and she could still remember his smile. His beautiful smile that she loved, and that she would never… The blond shook her head, determined to not let her tears fall as she clicked on the small television. Horror plagued through her veins, but her body seemed too numb to turn off the images on the screen.

              _“…no one knows the cause of the plane crash as of now, but LAX is currently investigating this tragedy.”_ Christa barely breathed at the sight on the screen. There was an image of a burnt building, debris scattered around the site of ground zero, blood staining the road. Stunned blue eyes continued to stare at the burned material of the plane. There was almost nothing left. Only dark ashes. _No one…_ she thought, _no one could have possibly survived._ Her breathing remained unstable as she saw the reporter stand near the debris. She had dark brown hair and gray eyes. The wind slightly blew through her long hair as she continued to stand with the carnage behind her. _“It is suspected that the majority of the passengers died from burning rather than smoke inhalation. The flames were so hot they burned almost everything, and now, only bones remain as the only sign of this tragedy.”_ Rage started to boil through Christa’s form at the sight of the reporter.

              “What do you know of tragedy?” Christa screamed, furious tears streaming down her face as the reporter’s dull words were drowned from her screamed words. “Do you have _any_ idea what it is like to be left alone? To be left with only a broken heart and soul, with _emptiness_?” She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream until there was nothing left. Christa had thought that losing her son, her dear sweet child from cancer, would be the only pain that would cause her to feel as if the grief, the _feeling_ would never end. The agony and the pain had haunted her, seeing only in her dreams of the son that she had failed to save. She had thought that there was pain greater than that. How wrong she was. It felt as if her life was being squeezed out of her as she continued to shout, loss and agony being the only reality she knew as it felt as if her heart was bleeding. It was _bleeding_ and _aching_ , and wouldn’t stop. A part of her that she didn’t know she had was now gone.

              “I don’t care about what happened to the plane!” A raw sob tore from her, remembering a memory that felt like from so long ago. _“But it doesn’t mean anything to her family, or to me!”_ Neal had comforted her then. His simple words of _“I know, I know, I know,”_ echoed in her tormented mind as Christa thought of how the day ended up being the happiest she had felt since she had arrived at Angles. Kelly had died, leaving her husband calling for his wife’s name even though Christa had told him that she had died. The unmistaken grief as his knees collapsed as he stared at the empty room burned in her mind, causing fresh tears to break free from her swollen eyes. “I don’t care…” Christa choked, her eyes squeezing shut as she remembered that one day. “I don’t care about why it crashed…or that it landed in a field. It doesn’t matter to me.” Her tears fell into her mouth, tasting the saltiness of her tears.

              “I just want Neal back…”

              _“We have already determined some of the identities of the victims, and will say them in honor of the life they had lived before the tragedy took them away from us.”_

“Stop,” Christa whispered. Her hands clutched the remote control, but her fingers were frozen as the names were announced. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

 _“…Adrian Feliciano, a young graduate student pursing a degree in library science.”_ Two names had been stated so far, and Christa now saw the graduate student named Adrian Feliciano smiling at the camera, his face fully seen at the close picture. He had soft-looking brown hair, and warm hazel eyes with freckles dotting his nose. Another picture showed him surrounded by books, old and weathered looking, laughing at the camera. _“Rita Malcolm, a successful businesswoman leaving behind a wife and two children.”_ An image of a strawberry-blond woman with short hair and green eyes appeared, lying beside her wife and two children. They were smiling, the small children showing gaping teeth at the camera. The second photo showed Rita Malcolm with her colleagues, softly smiling at the person taking the photo as she wore her dark business suit. Christa swallowed. Despite her grief, the resident thought about how the families must be feeling the same as her. Lost. Alone. Feeling as if this nightmare would never end.

              _“And Neal Hudson, a doctor from England.”_

Christa’s breath caught in her throat, the words echoing dully in her ears as a picture of Neal flashed on the screen. Christa fought her tears as she stared motionlessly at the picture of the younger Neal, when he had first arrived in Angels. His hair was slightly longer, curling at the end, and his eyes appearing uncertain as he stared at the camera. The scrubs were blue as always, and the tag stating that he was a doctor echoed in Christa’s mind. _Why…?_ she thought. Another photo appeared. Christa’s gasped at the photo, a sob burning in her throat at the smile that appeared on Neal’s face on the picture. He was the Neal she had met three years ago, his dark brown eyes warm as he smiled in his scrubs, Mike Leighton appearing by his side at the were photographed. Christa remembered when the photograph was taken. Neal and Mike had miraculously saved a patient’s life, and both Angus and Mario had wanted to take a picture of the dubbed “elite doctors” despite their protests. Christ had laughed at her boyfriend’s expression, knowing that he was shy about getting his picture taken. But still, the four residents and eventually Jesse encouraged both of them to have their photo taken. It had been early in the morning after their shift, but Neal and Mike still managed to smile despite their eyes clouded in exhaustion. It was taken six months ago.

              Christa wanted to scream from the grief destroying her chest as she cried, attempting to hold onto to whatever sanity she had left by holding the blue orb that Neal had given to her before he had boarded the flight that had ended his life.

              _Why…did you die? Please, speak to me…one more time._

 _I can’t do this alone, Neal._ Christa thought of how the attending had whispered that he loved her – both of them – and said beloved words in a language he had only heard his grandfather speak. _I need you. This baby needs you._

 _I…miss you. Please, return to me._..


	7. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven_

 

 

             Neal had been dead for three days. The days seemed to blur together, becoming only an ever-present feeling of emptiness and grief that she was only able to escape through sleep.

              Christa hadn’t dreamed of Neal since the day he died. The memory of hearing his voice and the gentle touches she had thought were so _real_ echoed in her mind. A part of her wanted to experience the dream again, wanting nothing more than to simply be with her love again…even if it was only a dream. But Neal was dead. The realization that Neal was dead burned, a never-ceasing scar as Christa managed to breathe. It hurt so much to do simple functions like breathing. It felt as if every breath was laborious; as if a part of her never wished to take another breath. The grief she experienced was reminiscent of the grief after her son had died. It hurt to breathe, just like before. And yet somehow it was worse. The love she had for her son was different than the love she had for Neal. Her son had died in her arms, and she had acknowledged years later that she had known that he would die. And not a day passed, as she told the young man named Jeremy three years ago, that she regretted making her son work harder to die. She could still see her son’s smile now, calling for her with her eyes. He was such a sweet little boy. But Neal…

              She didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. He had died before she had could say the words that she wanted to say but couldn’t say until it was too late. Christa could still remember of how Neal had told her she was the dearest thing to her, holding her close as if it was going to be the last time. No one knew that it was going to be the final time. The last time that Christa would ever see his face. The last time she felt his lips on hers, his warm touch across her skin. Even the tears that caressed from his eyes, which she had previously never wanted to see, would never been seen again. His voice, light with happiness quiet in contemplation or sorrow, and sweet as he caressed her hair, and slightly breathless after intimacy.

              Christa would never be able to experience that again.

              It didn’t matter to her of what caused the plane to crash.

              What mattered to her was the reason why he, her beautiful and kind Neal, was never coming back.

              Christa had never felt this amount of hatred for a person before. During the sleepless nights when she could only think of Neal and his death, the blond resident also thought of Gina Perello. She remembered of how the ER director had insulted him, both of them, telling a stunned Neal that he was fired from the place he had spent his entire career. Angels was home to him, and Gina took that precious thing away.

              She took away his life when the jealous woman had told them that Neal would have to leave on a plane that night. If she had swallowed her malicious feelings and allowed the attending and resident to be as they were, loving each other, then Neal would not have gotten on that plane and died. He wouldn’t have died by flames, burning until only blackened bones remained. The last sounds he heard, screaming and fire burning. Rage lodged in Christa’s throat at the memory of Neal’s goodbye. Christ had been inconsolable when Gina Perello had appeared in the ER on that early morning, sobbing with every word she rasped, eventually succumbing to unconsciousness. The pain and rage at the mere memory of Gina Perello was enough to make Christa taste her rage. She didn’t know what would happen if she saw the woman who tore away the man she loved again. Would she collapse like before, or would Christa be able to speak with the rage that had festered inside her for the three, long days?

              The days that never seemed to end.

              Christa could barely eat. It was only because she was pregnant that she forced herself to eat something. But the food felt like nothing. It lodged in her throat, choking her as she attempted to swallow. She cried as she ate, because it felt as if a part of her died every time she opened her mouth to swallow something that she couldn’t taste anymore. The third year resident remained hydrated, even though she felt even sick drinking water. It was…as if Neal was not the only one who died.

              The Christa Lorenson she had been had died as well.

              Christa jumped at the sound of doorbell. The grieving woman had been grateful that none of her fellow residents or Leanne and Jesse hadn’t visited her. She was a mess. Her eyes were swollen red, and her hair that trailed onto her back was tangled. Furthermore, Christa wouldn’t be able to stand the pity in their eyes. When she had first come to Angels, the first year resident had still been grieving over her six-year old son. The blond had found love when she had least expected it, and she knew that Neal felt the same. He had told her that he had fallen in love with her during the day of the quarantine, when they still barely knew each other. She wasn’t able to remember when she had fallen in love with Neal Hudson. Christa could only remember of how right it had felt when they had first made love, feeling of how connected she felt towards this beautiful, wonderful man. She had told no one of how she caressed his hair as he slept, feeling the thick strands against the fingers that he had kissed, a blissful smile against her lips as she continued to watch him sleep.

              And now, that love was gone. The only memory that she had left, the last physical evidence of him, was an eight-week embryo.

              The doorbell rang again. “Coming,” Christa faintly whispered. She was wearing nothing but one of Neal’s shirts. It felt…somewhat pathetic that the woman who had once been so strong was only able to wear her boyfriend’s shirt because it smelled like him. Christa unsteadily walked to the door and opened it.

              Dr. Leanne Rorish was standing in the doorway. It was odd to see her out of her trademark scrubs and Angles ID, but the older woman appeared subdued in her clothes of dark green and blue. She appeared to not be surprised by Christa looking so disheveled and wearing her former student’s shirt.

              “I wanted to see how you were doing, but I was preoccupied.”

              Christa moved aside to allow the residency director to move inside the apartment, her sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of the lone bed with crumpled sheets.

              “Christa, it won’t help anyone if you waste away.” There was a slight sharpness in the older doctor’s tone, and Christa felt as if she had been slapped.

              “I have been eating,” she protested. “I’ve been keeping myself hydrated, and –”

              “And yet you haven’t moved from that bed.” There was a kindness that wasn’t there previously, and Christa blinked rapidly in order to stare at the older woman without crying. “I believe that you have eaten, Christa, but you are supposed to be gaining weight, not losing it.”

              “It’s…” Now the tears started to flow, marring Christa’s vision as a bubble of grief as she thought of the emptiness she had felt in the past three days. “It’s…so hard.” Her hand went to her abdomen. _“I love you. Both of you.”_ She could still remember his voice. Both of them had thought that he would stay, that he would…be a part of this.

              But now there was only her and a group of friends.

              Somehow it didn’t seem to be enough.

              “I know,” the dark-haired doctor whispered soothingly, “but other people are hurting too, Christa.” There was a heavy pause, and fresh tears started to spill from Christa’s eyes at the thought of her selfishness. She remembered Neal talking about the old woman and her granddaughter who he said would check on her during his absence. From the way he had spoken about them then, the two people appeared to be as entwined in his life as she was. Perhaps even more. There was Mike, his best friend from his first year of residency, and his parents… Guilt, heavy and oppressive, pressed against her chest. “I don’t want you to push people away like I did, Christa.”

              Christa almost missed Leanne’s whispered caress, but when she did, the guilt became tighter across her chest. The older doctor had suffered a tragedy six years ago, losing her husband and children from a car accident. Losing one of her students must be another nightmare.

              “I’m sorry,” Christa shouted, half-choking on her tears that came into her mouth, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She didn’t see the flicker of deep pain in the older woman’s eyes at the sight of agony. “I didn’t realize…”

              “Relax, Christa. It’s okay.” Leanne almost appeared to smile at the child-like look of shock across the younger woman’s face. “Grief does that. It makes us feel only the agony of losing something dear to us, make us feel as if we were dead again.”

              “It…does,” Christa hesitantly agreed. She carefully wiped her eyes and looked at Leanne in apprehension. “How are the others doing?”

              The residency director bit her lip before sighing. “It’s not a pretty picture, Christa. Everyone is grieving in their own way, but I can see Mario, Angus, and Malaya cracking. Mike…took it the hardest, I think. When I…told him, I don’t think he truly believed me. Angus has tried contacting him, but he hasn’t answered anyone, or came to work at all.” The blond resident swallowed. She had seen the friendship that Neal and Mike had, going back when her boyfriend was unconfident and uncertain of his path. _“He helped me discover who I could be, and who I am now,”_ the English doctor had simply stated. But it was more than that. They would trust each other with everything. Including their lives if it came to that. “His parents…were shocked, as you might imagine,” Leanne continued quietly. For a brief moment, Christa stared in the older woman’s eyes. Beneath the orbs that spoke of tragedy and strength, there was grief. Drowning grief. _She knew Neal longer than I did, and yet…_

“You are not alone, Christa,” Leanne stated softly, reaching to hold the younger woman’s hand. The touch felt gentle, warmth caressing inside her palms as Christa stared at her mentor who was sharing her grief. “You’re not alone,” she repeated. She pulled her hand away and softly smiled at the slightly taller woman. “Would you like a shower? I think you need it.”

              Christa licked her lips and closed her eyes for a moment.

              “Yes,” she whispered. “I think…a shower would be good.”


	8. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eigh_ t

 

              Dr. Mario Savetti suspected that Neal Hudson underestimated of how he could impact people. He was the kind of man, Mario had thought after coming to Angels Memorial after observing the English attending, who would help kids on the streets and not fight with violence even with a gun pointed to his head. There would be no way for him to survive on the streets as Mario had done. And yet he was able to change a young man who didn’t want to deal with anyone to a person who felt the agony of a death as if it was his own. The dark-haired resident sighed and turned to find Angus with a similar expression of uncertainty and heartbreak. It had been four whole days since Neal had died. Four days since Mario had caught himself before doing something stupid, curbing the sudden anger and anguish that caught his chest as soon as he entered his apartment. Neal had no idea how he impacted others’ lives. The then-first year resident had remembered his own reaction to Neal’s words from the erectile dysfunction case. It was partly the only time that someone had stood up to his bullshit attitude and, as Mario realized now, what he needed to hear. Perhaps if Neal hadn’t spoken up, Mario wouldn’t have been given a clue to who he was. Perhaps he wouldn’t have managed to find actual friends who cared about his existence, and a chance to belong.

              Perhaps Mario wouldn’t be here now, standing with Angus and Malaya as they stood before the door opening to the apartment where their other friend was grieving. Mario swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he attempted to not think about what Christa was feeling at this moment. It was well-known within the ER that Christa had lost her son to cancer before becoming a doctor, forging her way through grief and hard work to able to work at the prestigious Angels Memorial hospital. Mario had been shocked when he had learned that Neal and Christa were dating, involved, whatever people say. But what they had, Mario concluded one day after watching those two interact, was real. Mario had seen of how two-screwed up people could simply be together because of an unfortunate consequence. Mario had once asked his drugged mother why his parents were together if they were always screaming at each other. In Mario’s child mind, the answer from the woman with the same dark eyes as his was enough. But now that Mario was older and understood parts of himself that he hated, the dark-haired resident had come to the conclusion that he was a product of cocaine. The love that Christa had for Neal and Neal had for Christa was something that Mario realized was real. They were nothing like his parents.

              Christa didn’t deserve this. Angus managed to convinced Mario that visibly snarling at Gina Perello was not the real answer to deal with grief and anger. Even though the other resident didn’t say anything as Mario blamed the ER director for what had happened over the past four days. Dr. Rorish made no comment as her residents visibly tensed and glowed with anger whenever the familiar face of Gina Perello came by in the ER. He didn’t care as the woman came to realize that she became a pariah to her department, brusque answers when asked questions and cold looks as she passed by trauma one. Mario didn’t care when he saw dark bags under the director’s eyes. All he could see when he saw her was Neal burning with all the material they had learned in medical school melting away, and Christa grieving in the one place they had shared.

              No, Mario thought. Neal had no idea of how the ER loved him.

              His thoughts were broken by Malaya pressing the doorbell. The three waited in tense silence, expecting Christa in the doorway, perhaps her hair tangled and her eyes red and empty. Dr. Rorish had visited her yesterday, and brought some progress. Their mentor had stated that she had been able to persuade Christa to take a shower and have something to eat. When she came by early this morning however, the dark-haired attending had been unable to get through Christa. It seemed that the small progress she had made with the grieving woman had come at a standstill. The three residents were in her stead today, and Mario heaved a breath as the door opened.

              Instead of Christa, a small wiry old woman stood before them. _Shit,_ Mario thought. _We’re in the wrong place!_ The old woman’s eyes wandered over to them, and Mario could see a faint tremor in her hands for a brief moment before it stopped.

              “We’re sorry,” Malaya began, “we meant to find –”

              “It’s all right,” the old woman responded with a slight tilt to her head as she observed the three. Mario’s heart jumped at the sound of the accent that came from her. He could see Angus swallowing thickly as he stared at the old woman, noticing the small purple shirt and grey pants that she wore. _It’s strange feel…something good after I heard that accent again after all that is happened,_ Mario thought dully as the old woman continued to speak. “You can come inside.”

              Malaya looked at her friends for a moment. “I’ll go see Christa,” she stated finally.

              And so Mario and Angus reluctantly went inside the small apartment as Malaya went upstairs where Christa was. Mario observed that the apartment barely had anything in it. Two faded chairs and a small table stood in the center, and the walls were mostly white and empty. Then his eyes widened at the sight of a single picture by the doorway.

              Even though the photo was probably a decade old, Mario could still recognize his mentor. At the corner of his eye, the dark-haired resident could see Angus looking at the photo as well, his face a mask of shock. The photo had to be taken when Neal was a resident. He looked younger, his face softer and smiling as he held the hand of the dark-haired toddler in the photo. His dark hair was longer, reaching to his nape and curling at the ends, his dark eyes alight with joy. The younger Neal and the unnamed toddler appeared to be in a park of some-sort, the green grass seen in the photo and the trees behind them. Mario was slightly surprised at the fact that Neal was still wearing his scrubs, the dark blue clashing with the sky, which had no clouds.

              “Sophie wanted to see what Neal looked like in his work clothes,” stated the old woman as she too stared at the photo. Mario noted of the faint trembling in her voice. “We had met the boy two years ago when he was studying emergency medicine, and she managed to convince him to change out of his street clothes and into his scrubs.” There was a pause, and Mario suddenly realized that this old woman was more than a neighbor by the mistiness and sadness in her sharp blue eyes as she spoke. “She had him wrapped around her finger, and Sophie was only four years old.”

              “My name is Beatrice Harper,” the old woman stated as the two residents towards her. “I don’t suppose the errant boy mentioned me, but I know you are Angus Leighton and Mario Savetti.”

              “How do you know that?” Mario asked as Angus faintly glared at him. “You seem to know us.”

              “In simple terms, I was the boy’s neighbor,” Beatrice replied. Then she shook her head. “He always mentioned the residents that he worked with at Angels whenever we met –”

              “Grandmother?” A young girl stood in the doorway. _She looks terrible,_ Mario thought as he tried to not look away from the hollow stare she was giving them. Wavy dark brown hair covered her forehead, tangled and snared as red-rimmed eyes, puffy and almost swollen-shut as she almost leaned against the door. The girl’s voice rasped and trembled, as if she had not spoken in years. “Are you…Nel’s friends?”

              _Nel?_ Mario thought. The moment she had said that name, her voice seemed to became inaudible and her mouth kept swallowing if trying not to choke. His mind wandered over to the photo of the happy four-year old holding Neal’s hand. The hazel eyes that had been so happy before were now dull, as if all of the life had been extinguished. Before he could answer however, the girl named Sophie turned and slammed the door behind her.

              “Is she…?” _Okay,_ Mario wanted to ask, but he knew what the answer was as soon as he quieted at the sight of the pure sorrow that flashed across Beatrice Harper’s face.

              “She tried going to school again, my poor girl.” There was a faint smile with bittersweet fondness in the old woman’s tone. “Sophie has always been stubborn, worried more about her studies than herself. But she was devastated – no, _destroyed_ by Neal’s death.” The sound of the name was enough to cause a hard pain to envelop in Mario’s stomach, and he could see shining in the old woman’s eyes as she spoke carefully. “Sophie and I came here around the same time Neal did. I have dealt with grief before. My son and daughter-in-law died from an accident when Sophie was two, and we came here to start a new life. She doesn’t remember her parents, not their faces or voices, and attached herself so deeply to Neal.” A faint sigh came from her. “I loved him too. He was like the grandson that I never had, and losing him…” Now tears, calm and regal even as the old woman cried, pelted on her face. “It is worse than anything I experienced before, because this grief not only belongs to me. I am reminded of my dear boy’s death every waking moment because I hear Sophie’s cries.”

              “Ms. Harper,” Angus asked with hesitation, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

              Beatrice Harper looked at them, seeing them as they were. Two young men who had worked with a man she loved like a grandson, appearing as devastated as she felt about Neal Hudson’s death. Slowly, she shook her head. _There is nothing you can do for me,_ she seemed be saying with her blue eyes.

              _Just as there is nothing that can heal this hole that we share._


	9. Chapter Nine

_Chapter Nine_

It was hard to wake up. Christa felt the pull of sleep as her eyes opened to yet another day, another hour. Two days ago she had managed to take a shower and eat something as Leanne talked quietly to her. Although she didn’t say anything, Christa was grateful for voices. It felt too quiet, too _empty_ , as if the one apartment that she and Neal had shared was too big for her now. She had been grateful to the other female doctor with her measured words and knowing glances. There was a side to Leanne Rorish that Christa one time wanted to know more than anything; there was a shared sense of loss, of a pain that did not heal and without a name from the pure agony of it. There was such a name for a feeling, but for both of them, the word was too simple to simply be _grief_. Now it seemed that they were in “the same club” again, only this time not only the two women were suffering. At the thought, Christa bit her lip as tears trailed down her cheeks.

              Malaya had come by yesterday. The other female resident had stated that Mario and Angus had wanted to visit her as well, but they had mistakenly knocked on the first floor and were now in the company of an old woman. Before Malaya had finished speaking, Christa knew of who she had spoken of. The blond resident had thought of the elderly neighbor Beatrice Harper and her granddaughter Sophie. The two had known Neal longer than she had, and her mind was haunted by of how Neal had spoken fondly of his landlady and her granddaughter. Christa _had_ wanted to visit them, ever since Leanne had told her that she didn’t want Christa to become isolated and alone after her family had died, but she was a coward.

              She didn’t want to see another person grieving. The feeling of numbness, that refused to go away, the tears that never seemed to cease, and of the feeling of living without a heart, was too painful to see the expression on another person. Christa swallowed and moved from the bed as she thought of how sad Malaya looked. Of how the younger resident, in an almost inaudible voice, told Christa that she knew what it was like to lose a lover. _“Someone that you love more than life itself is gone, and it’s…the most terrifying experience you can have.”_ The darker-haired young woman had looked across from Christa, not judging as swollen blue eyes looked at her own dark brown and wearing nothing but one of Neal’s shirts. _“I slept in Carla’s clothes too soon after her death. As if…that their belongings would anchor us, comforting us as if it were their own bodies, and not just belongings. I’m part of the same club too, Christa.”_ There was a small, somber smile on Malaya’s face as Christa stared at her in shock at the mention of the “club” that she had dubbed two years ago. So long ago.

              When she had still been grieving for her son and the raw wound that her ex-husband had left her because her grief was too much.

              Before Neal Hudson, with his love that left Christa breathless.

              _“I love you. I love you so much. Both of you.”_

Malaya had told her of how she understood to an extent what Christa was going through, and squeezed her hand tightly for a number of minutes. Half an hour later she had left, before forcing Christa to change into clothes and eat a hot meal of simple bread and broth.

 Christa softly combed her hair in the mirror as she thought about her memories over the past two days. Her blue eyes appeared to be haunted, but did not leak tears. Christa pulled on a soft blue blouse and a pair of jeans as she continued to comb her hair. Her other hand rested on her abdomen, and she sighed from deep in her chest as she thought about the baby growing inside of her. For the first time since she told Neal that she was pregnant, Christa found herself thinking about the future. The baby would be born in February, a winter child like it’s father. The blond resident remembered of how she and the residents found out about Neal’s birthday. Code Black didn’t seem to stop even on New Year’s Day, and Christa and the other residents spent most of the time diagnosing patients and making certain they were stable, as well as calling cabs to call in extremely hung-over partiers from early in the morning. Christa’s bright memory was of Neal working beside her, mentoring her techniques and procedures that she now knew by heart. They shared a small smile, and in the present time, Christa swallowed. How she would miss Neal’s smile.

              It was bright enough to light up the world.

              Jesse had suddenly pulled the ER attending aside shortly before the end of the shift, and the residents, including Christa, were curious of why Mama was pulling aside Neal and presenting him with a waffle bowl with what looked like a round fried donut with red icing that stated _feliz compleanos_. There was some light teasing by Mario and Angus who remarked that Neal was born on January 1, of all days. Christa herself had softly smiled, knowing too well that people who were born on national holidays – barred July 4 – often had their birthdays forgotten. Neal had stated afterword when they were alone that Jesse had gotten him fried ice cream. _“He gives me one every year, ever since I was a resident.”_

            Six months ago, Neal had brought the fried ice cream home and she remembered of how the happiness shone in his eyes as they ate the fried ice cream that Jesse had made from his grandmother’s recipe from scratch. It was a memory, painful enough to want to forgot, but Leanne had stated that she would rue the day when she tried to not think about Neal, so Christa simply closed her eyes and breathed through the emptiness through her heart.

          Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a knocking door. Although Christa was prepared, she felt as if her feet were frozen to the ground. Was she truly ready for this? There was another knock, quieter this time. With bated breath, Christa walked outside of the bathroom. A part of her wanted to stay still, motionless and suspended in time, but the blond moved forward and stood in front of the door. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and her hand was cool against the doorknob.

         Before she could have any thoughts, Christa opened the door.

         “Christa.” Asra Hudson was standing before the open door. The younger woman noted of how she attempted to smile, but could not. She recognized the attempt to fool others, but understood the pain far too well.

         How often had she looked at herself, knowing that she had outlived her son?

           And…she looked across from her, and saw Neal’s father by his wife’s side. The former self-assured man whom she had met that day in the quarantine appeared an empty shell of his former self.

         Christa moved aside to allow Asra and Peter Hudson to come inside. She remembered getting a call early afternoon yesterday. Asking if it was all right if they visited her when she was still numb with grief. _“Of course,”_ Christa had softly replied. She looked across at them now, asking them if they would like anything to eat or drink.

         “No,” Neal’s mother stated quietly, looking across the apartment as if reliving a memory before clearing her throat. “No thank you.” The older woman carefully chose a chair to sit in, one of the remnants of Leanne’s stay. Her husband chose to stand, having brought one of the chairs from the abandoned kitchen and stated that Christa should sit down. The three people in the room appeared to not know how to speak for a moment. Christa was still, looking at Neal’s parents through half-lidded eyes.

        The two neurosurgeons she had met two years ago had vanished. Given, Neal’s mother had been sick but she had seen the strength and fire in the woman, and seen the love – although her dear Neal could not see it – the father had for his son and his wife. Peter Hudson was pale and didn’t speak, the silence coming from him almost choking Christa. His once-impeccable suit was wrinkled, and dark shadows were under his eyes. His wife was able to hide her grief more quietly, but Christa _knew_ of the agony and despair that she was holding inside her very being.

         Christa had lost her son after six years of his life.

        She could not imagine the nightmare of having lost a son in his adulthood.

        “We…heard about Neal’s…death from Dr. Rorish, his former mentor.” Asra Hudson’s breath hitched at the sound of her son’s name coming from her lips, and a sharp knowing pain entered Christa’s chest. Dark eyes desperately trying to hold back grief echoed in her own. “I’m sorry we didn’t visit sooner, Christa.”

         “Dr. Hudson –” Christa protested.

          “It’s Asra, Christa.” The dark-haired woman stared softly at Christa, whose mouth was opened in shock. “Certainly there is no need for formality after…all of this.”

           “It’s okay,” Christa murmured to Asra, swallowing the emotion threatening to come from her throat. “I was…afraid to see you until now.”

           “You may call me Peter as well, Christa.” The haunted look in Peter Hudson’s eyes was deep enough to drown into. There was a faint rasp in his voice. “My son…loved you, and I would think it would be appropriate if you called us by our names.”

Before Christa could thank them, the Englishman continued speaking.

“In two days, our son’s…memorial will be held. I…discussed it with some difficulty with Leanne Rorish.” There was a pause. “And I understand if you are upset that you weren’t informed –”

              “I was too upset to even think about anything,” Christa hoarsely whispered at the memory of Leanne bringing up the memorial, remembering of how she had been unable to follow what Leanne was trying to say, eventually allowing herself the to fall into Leanne’s arms and sobbing as the older doctor stroked her hair in a mother-like manner. “I understand that…you want to take Neal’s bones home to England, and have…a service here.”

              “Thank you,” Peter stated brokenly. His voice almost faltered, and Asra held her husband’s hand as he squeezed painfully. “Thank you…so much. I just don’t want…”

              _To visit my son’s grave half way around the world._ The words were unspoken, but Christa could almost hear them through the grief in his inaudible tone and his too-bright eyes. Although Neal would never say it, she could tell by the little things he did that he missed England. The small grimace he made when tasting a particularly terrible cup of tea, the look in his eyes as he described the rain and the cold winters that he now, after many years in LA, that he was nostalgic for. _I think…a part of him would like his bones to go home too._

              “Christa, will you be able to come to the memorial?” Asra asked.

               “Yes…I think I will be able to go to the memorial,” Christa stated faintly. _I have to tell them,_ she thought with tears threatening to overspill and a catch in her chest. “There’s something I need you to know.”

               Asra and Peter immediately looked up, distress evident in their eyes.

               “I’m…pregnant.” Christa closed her eyes and _breathed_ as she looked at the heart-broken faces of Neal’s grieving parents. Asra slowly moved her hand forward, her dark eyes so much like her son’s Christa wanted to sob until nothing was left, drowning in pain and staring at the blue orb around Christa’s neck. Her eyes widened and a half gasp tore from her throat.

              “He gave that to you,” Asra whispered with tears falling from her eyes. “My _kanz…_ gave it to you.” She stared at the blue orb with a broken expression. Her face started to crumple, and Peter’s hand slackened and he started to shed tears at his wife’s pain. “Oh, _Baba_ , why…did you take our beloved from us?”

* * *

 

             Christa had said goodbye to Asra and Peter in the late afternoon. Both parents had been devastated by the death of their son, although none of them said a word beyond Asra’s heartbroken cry that became only tears. They told her that they wished her to get some sleep, and they would visit her again tomorrow. _“Thank you,”_ Asra had whispered softly. _“I was not able to cry for days after Neal’s death.”_

Numbness caused by so much grief you could not feel anything. Christa could remember feeling the same, a different grief after the death of her son. It wasn’t like the pulsing, devastating pain that she felt now. Shortly after they left, the blond woman thought about what Leanne had said about isolating herself and grieving. _Sophie is doing that now,_ Christa thought as she remained silent by the door. She had decided to confront the image she had been afraid to see; another grieving so deeply. Beatrice, the old woman who had told her quietly of how her granddaughter had not sopped crying since the day Neal died, had not blamed her for not visiting the two.

              Even with the wooden door, Christa could hear Sophie crying. She imagined the child curled up into a ball, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sobbed, Carefully, Christa opened the door and called the girl’s name.

              The shelves that had once had stacked books were empty. Hardcovers with titles and names that Christa didn’t recognize were strewn on the floor. _Anger? No…despair,_ Christa realized as she looked across the room to find the girl lying on her side. She gasped as she looked up. Pictures of Neal covered the walls. Messy, chaotic, as if someone had no idea what they were doing. Christa’s eyes clouded at the sight of the numerous pictures that had Sophie and Neal. A small dark-haired child holding his hand, gaping at him as a younger Neal smiled. An older girl, learning how to read with Neal by her side, his fingers on a large book. Sophie smiling, her eyes laughing as somehow she and her companion were dressed up medieval outfits. And…there was a picture that haunted Christa’s thoughts. It was the same picture that was taken when Neal was a first year resident. The same expression, eyes, and curling hair.

              “Why did he die?” It rasped, sounding more dead than alive. Christa jumped, looking across from her to find Sophie facing her. Her eyes were bloodshot, almost swollen-shut, and her entire body trembled. “Why…?” Christa swallowed heavily, afraid that if she would speak it would cause Sophie to act like a deathly-frightened deer. She saw of how the young girl curled her fingers, clutching the bed-spread almost as if it would save her. Sobs shook from her body. “Nel…” Her haunted eyes wandered over to a book in the center of the room. Christa stared at it. _The Fall of the White Ship._

“Nel…died, and he’s not…” The girl’s body racked with sobs, and Christa moved closer to her, wanting to comfort the poor child. Even with the ever-present grief resurfacing, Christa had to try. Beatrice had attempted to consul her granddaughter for four days, but she hadn’t been able to heal even a millimeter of pain.

              “I know it hurts,” Christa said softly, knowing that speaking over the sobs would only hurt the girl. “It feels like it won’t go away…ever, but…Sophie, you need to come out of his room.”

              Sophie’s hazel eyes bored into Christa’s own. Brokenness. Emptiness. Despair. All those emotions in those eyes.

              “He left. He said he would come back…but he didn’t.” There was a tremble in Sophie’s voice, causing Christa to have to strain to understand next the words. “The Fall…of the…White Ship. Do you…know it?”

              “No,” Christa whispered, holding herself back just in time from holding Sophie tight. “What is it about, Sophie?”

              It took Sophie a long time to say anything. For a moment, Christa thought that she had decided to not to speak. Then,

              “On…N-november 25, 1120, a vessel sank…in the English Channel.” Sophie’s breathing started to quicken, a half-sob and gasp tearing from her throat. Christa immediately turned the girl toward her and told her to breathe deeply. Too deep in her own grief, the girl wasn’t able to hear the third year resident. _If she keeps breathing like this,_ Christa thought with a flashback of how she felt that she couldn’t breathe, seeing growing signs pointing to hyperventilation to the young girl. She felt a lump stuck in her throat, and she tried to breathe as well as Christa stared at Sophie’s devastated eyes. “The only legitimate…son of William I…drowned, leaving England without an… _h-heir._ ”

              “Sophie…” Christa breathed, combing her fingers through the girl’s hair, feeling the girl’s pulse. “You have to…”

              _“Nineteen_ years of civil war in England happened after that, causing so much anarchy and bloodshed that the peasants…said that Christ and his saints slept!” Sophie attempted to get away, trying to break free from Christa’s grasp, but the female adult held fast. “Nel…went on a plane with the number 1120! The s-ame…year that everything went to bloody hell!” Sophie breathing quickened even more, despite Christa telling her to breathe and forcing her to look into her eyes.

             “Ne – Neal died!”

             At the sound of the pet name disappearing from Sophie’s lips, Christa saw the young girl begin to breathe more slowly. “I…told him…he was all I _needed_ in this world.”

            Her voice sounded so small and lost. As if she had not lost something precious to her once, but many uncountable times. “And he… _Neal_ died. It was…as if my entire world…had stopped. Like the Anarchy…only worse. So, so much…worse.”

          “I know,” Christa whispered to the young girl. “I know what it is like to feel as if you have lost everything.” The girl stared at the grown woman who was crying as well. “He meant…the world to me too, Sophie.” Her tears flowed down to the girl’s cheeks. “I know, and I have a feeling that your Nel wouldn’t want you to be…so _sad_.”

            A sob came from the dark-haired child as she heard the old nickname she had given Neal when she was only two years old. “My classmates laughed when I started to _scream_ after the teacher told us that the plane crashed. They…all thought…I _loved_ him that way, but…I just…”

          “He was the only one you needed in the world,” Christa whispered. _He was my world as well,_ she thought, remembering his beautiful laughter and smiles. Her eyes echoed against Sophie’s, seeing the reflection of their broken eyes as their bleeding hearts continued to bleed.

       “It’s going to be okay, Sophie,” Christa whispered, holding the girl close to her chest where the girl continued to sob. “It’s going to be okay.”

        Even though in her heart, she didn’t know how it would be.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are just a few chapters left of this story. Review please!

_Chapter Ten_

The sun was shining. There was not a cloud in the sky, and Christa stared at the pale blue sky overhead. Her hair was combed and she was wearing a purple t-shirt that rested underneath a small darker purple jacket. A dark skirt covered her knees, and Christa was reminded of where she was as soon as she took a smaller hand in hers. The young doctor glanced at the girl holding her thin, shaking hand in her own. Sophie had been deathly quiet ever since the morning of Neal’s memorial service had begun. The young child who had sobbed in Christa’s arms three days ago had withdrawn within herself, staring almost blankly ahead at the back of the seats of the car as Leanne drove. Christa knew that Sophie was thinking about Neal. From the howls of devastation and agony that had come from the eleven-year-old’s lips as she sobbed in Christa’s arms, the blond woman understood that to Sophie, Neal’s death would be a wound that would take a very long time to heal. It took Christa a long time for the girl to calm down in her arms. She had eventually collapsed from exhaustion and grief, and the doctor’s heart broke at the sight of the very small person lying alone in a room filled with too many memories. Christa herself had cried herself to sleep, knowing too well of what it was like to be inconsolable.

              Christa saw Leanne look back at them at the corner of her eye. Her blue eyes reached the older doctor’s cautious brown, knowing what she was thinking. It was hard, very hard, to come to Neal’s memorial service. Instead of having a smaller and more subdued affair as associated with memorial services, this service would be similar to a funeral. Leanne had wanted to welcome as many people as possible so that they could say goodbye. And that meant, many colleagues and those who simply wanted to come would be waiting for the last arrivals. Christa didn’t blame Asra and Peter for wanting Neal’s funeral to be in England and to have a grave there. It still hurt to visit her son’s grave, past the state boundary from California where he had been buried. She remembered the brokenness in Peter’s eyes and Asra’s grief-soaked tears. They would be here today as well. And then, they would collect whatever was left of their son after the plane crash and fire that took his life and go back to England.

              Asra had suggested that she stay with Christa for a couple of months, regarding of how fragile Christa was and her pregnancy, but the younger woman had declined. Even though Neal’s mother had repeatedly stated that she could stay, Christa had stated that she didn’t want to allow her to forget her own grief. _“I know what it is like to lose a son,”_ she had stated to the tearing woman with dark eyes drowning in sadness reflected in her own eyes. _“He was six years old, and died from cancer. I can…only imagine what you are feeling now.”_ Christa could see now that Asra and Peter were side by side, hanging onto each other as they stood beside their son’s friends and other family. The group that consisted of the residents, doctors, and nurses who knew Neal the most during his nine years at Angels stood close together. Beatrice, Sophie’s grandmother, was also standing with them, beside a taller man Christa came to recognize with shock as Mike Leighton.

              Christa had overheard during a hushed conversation with Angus and Mario that the older Leighton was struggling with his grief. Mike and Neal had been friends as long as Neal had known Sophie, and during her three years at Angels, Christa had always seen the two attendings work side by side. The resident Dr. Christa Lorenson might be his girlfriend, but Dr. Mike Leighton was his best friend. _“He was the first friend Mike really had, you know. I mean, who would want to be a friend of the highly-skilled board-member of the Angels Memorial Hospital? Mike…had only one real friend starting with Neal when he came from England, and sure, he’s had other friendships too, but…”_ The best friend of Neal Hudson had lost weight. There were shadows underneath his eyes, and the older doctor who had eased the English resident’s loneliness during the challenging program at Angels was beside Angus and Mario. His normal sharp and focused gaze in the ER, and teasing and bright gaze outside of the hospital were now gone. Mike was staring at the plaque which was under the center of a tree.

              The place that Christa and the other members had gathered was a couple of feet away from the cemetery. It was a secluded area, and small, the only marker of the place being a tree that bore hollyhock flowers every year in the summer. _“There are times where I just…don’t want to think,”_ Neal had confessed to her one evening after she had asked if what he did when he became overwhelmed with being a physician. _“So no matter what the time, even if it is three o’clock in the morning and I’m dead tired, I go to a special place. I was looking to visit a patient’s grave one day, one that I had attached to, when I was a second year resident.”_ There was a slight smile on his face as he said those words, looking at her with unabashed joy. _“Now I’m simply…go to you whenever I feel the aching pull on my heart, but before, I went under this tree, a couple of feet away from the cemetery. You should see it, Christa.”_ His dark eyes were alight from the memory. _“It’s so beautiful, with its white and pink colors muted with yellow.”_

They had chosen this place because Neal had spoken of the hollyhock tree with such fondness. He had promised to take her there sometime, but those words had simply become another promise that Neal could no longer fulfill. Christa felt tears falling from her eyes. Her hand other hand, which wasn’t clutching Sophie’s, caressed her abdomen. _How can I…do this without you, Neal? We we…together…supposed to…_

There were no answers. The life growing inside of her was now nine weeks, and the embryo was now the size of an olive. The heart and other vital organs were starting to grow, and soon, Christa would be able to feel it move. She had already been pregnant before, and the blond remembered of how it had felt to be pregnant and so very happy with her husband by her side. Now, however, so much had changed. She was not alone, but yet, becoming a parent without Neal felt empty.

              Many people came by to pay their respects. Even though Neal had as many as one hundred patients per day, some wouldn’t forget the kind doctor that had helped them when they were taken to the emergency room. Nor would the people forget the co-worker who had meant so much more than he thought he had been. Some spoke, including Leanne about the young lost man she had known, who she had said with emotion drowning in her eyes, had been like a son to her. Sophie let go of Christa’s hand, her fingers clenching together as other people spoke as well, commenting on the person they all loved with all of their heart. Christa didn’t speak. She didn’t trust herself to. The woman watched as her friends – her family – went to the plaque that was had Neal’s name with his birth and death states embedded in the stone. _There are so many things…that I wanted to say to you, Neal. So many…words that I_ should _have said._ No one said word as Leanne openly cried in Jesse’s arms, and when the famous neurosurgeon Peter Hudson, reportedly stoically English by his son, hugged his son’s plaque and sobbed, _“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry! I never…never should have…”_ Christa had been about to comfort the older man when his wife put her warm hand on his shoulder. _“It was a long time ago now, but I got into a huge fight with my parents.”_ Neal hadn’t wanted to wear the white coat that the medical student graduates were supposed to wear. Harsh words had been stated, and neither son or father had apologized. Neal had been told by his father that he was running away from being a surgeon despite finding “home.” And now Christa realized why Peter appeared outwardly more devastated than Asra. _It’s guilt…knowledge that he will never get to say those words he wanted to say to his son._

Christa crouched down, watching through half-lidded eyes as the hollyhocks continued to fall. They were falling onto the plaque, with their whites and pinks and faint yellows. _I…miss you…_

_So very much…_

Even as tears ran down her face, even as sorrow build inside of her chest, she was aware of one fact. She had survived. A full week had passed since Neal Hudson’s death, and Christa Lorenson was still alive. She had told a grieving Sophie that they would overcome this. And if they survived a week...moment by moment, as she had learned after her son’s death, the agonizing state of inconsolable grief would pass.

              Christa was not alone.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Chapter Eleven_

A full month passed. There was once a quote that had stated that time heals all wounds. Christa, who had suffered through much loss and grief, believed that was a lie. The passage of time did not truly heal wounds; it was still there, decaying inside with pain still as fresh when the wound had just opened. When he was six years old, Christa had lost her son Daniel to cancer. She could still remember the words she had described him as. _“After two years of medieval torture, the sweetest little boy died in my arms.”_ That was the first time the blond resident had talked openly about her son, and of his death. She didn’t know why she had told Neal so much about a boy who he didn’t know and who was dead despite her wish. Christa had told him she had wanted the attending to understand, but had there been more? The blond resident had been stunned when Neal had told her that he had fallen in love with her the day his mother was in quarantine. For herself, however, she wasn’t certain of when she had fallen in love with a man who was now one of the people she had lost.

              Christa swallowed and reminded herself to breathe as she approached the cemetery. Although she understood that she had been coming to this specific place since Neal’s death, it didn’t make visiting his grave any easier. Leanne, Mario, and Angus to name a few had offered to go with her so that she wouldn’t be alone. Tears had almost spilled from her eyes at the statement from her friends, but Christa had uttered quietly that it was better that she went to Neal’s grave by herself. _“I will be okay,”_ she had told them individually. The woman understood that most didn’t believe that she would be okay by herself, but they respected her wishes. There were many times when Christa would have to force herself to get out of bed, and there were times when her mind would blank and she wouldn’t hear what anyone was saying to her. Thinking about Neal did that to her.

              She often visited his grave as often as she could, but today was special.

              At fifteen weeks pregnant, she had gone to the gynecologist on the fourth floor to see her second ultrasound. Leanne had offered to go with her, and Christa hadn’t refused. Her mind had been haunted by memories of her first ultrasound she had, when the blond had been inconsolable and hyperventilating in the hours after the father of her unborn child’s death. _It wasn’t supposed to happen that way._ The thought often came when late at night, when Christa couldn’t sleep. She should know that there was nothing that could be changed by Neal’s death, knowing that nothing could be changed despite the tragedies in someone’s life. As a third year resident, she had seen so much despair, reflected in the gazes of loved ones, and of the anger. _“Bring him back! That’s my baby! Please,”_ the loved one would plead, face wan or streaming with tears with an unfulfilled scream, _“I want him back!”_

Christa was supposed to announce her pregnancy with Neal by her side, and be happy with her second half as she had been with her first. Neal should be alive, not dead and not causing grief to fluctuate in so many hearts. _“I know that you’ve lost a lot of people, Christa.”_ Malaya’s gentle voice echoed in Christa’s mind as her footsteps turned to the grave so many times she hated and loved at the same time. _“I know what loss is like…losing someone who you love more than life.”_ Shortly after Carla’s death, Malaya had stated something similar. The first-year resident had struggled to hold herself together after spending hours by Carla’s dying bedside. Even now, there was an echo of grief in the dark-haired resident’s eyes when she spoke of her first love. _“You don’t deserve this. You should be fat and pregnant and happy, with…Neal.”_ Her dark eyes were drowning in pain as she stared at Christa’s grief-stricken expression. _“But sometimes, we have to accept what has happened to us. Otherwise, there is no way for us to live again.”_

Christa had to accept the fact that Neal was dead. She was not the only one who had lost him. He was not the only person she had lost…but yet his death was as hard as her beloved son’s. Christa had shuddered slightly at the cool gel spread across her abdomen, and stared at the sight of her growing unborn child before her eyes. _“It’s a girl,”_ stated Dr. Summer softly, sympathy etching against her gentle face as Christa began to cry and held Leanne’s hand as the older doctor offered it. Even she had heard what had happened to Dr. Neal Hudson, and the relationship he had with the ER resident. She had been Leanne’s gynecologist during her pregnancies for her two children, and had been devastated as well when they had died in the ER after the accident so long ago. Dr. Summer had been their pediatrician as well, and Leanne had recommended her to Christa. She had been nothing but understanding and kind during her appointment, and Christa was grateful that she did not speak of Neal. Thinking about his reaction to the knowledge that he would never know his child – their _daughter_ – was a painful reality.

              Only Leanne and Dr. Summer knew that she was expecting a girl. Christa had wanted to tell Neal first about his daughter before telling his parents, their friends, and Sophie. The young girl who had loved Neal so much was recovering slowly. There were times when she would have bouts of crying and wouldn’t stop for a long time. The dark-haired girl talked to Christa a lot, sometimes after coming home from school, and Beatrice had told the blond woman that Sophie was very grateful that Christa had decided to stay in the apartment that she had lived in with Neal. _“You were one of the few people who knew him, and she doesn’t want to lose any more of Neal than she already has.”_ Sophie hadn’t said anything at first when Christa had told her that she was pregnant a couple of days after the memorial. Her hazel eyes had then widened and she lowered her head to Christa’s stomach as her tears soaked the material of the woman’s clothing.

              _She is going to be happy that the baby is a girl,_ Christa thought with a faint smile. _I noticed that Sophie –_ Her thoughts stopped when she became near enough to Neal’s plaque to see an unfamiliar shape crouching by the magnolia tree. Christa slowly moved forward, thinking that it was another forgotten patient whom was paying respects when her eyes widened and her thoughts dissipated.

              It was Gina Perello.

              The former confident ER director was a former shadow of herself, even at the distance that Christa was peering through. Her fingers were tightly clenching at the soil in her hands, and dark circles were under her eyes. The make-up she once had was gone.

              “I…don’t think I can say anything now,” came her voice. The former woman who had once told Neal that he was fired from the place he had worked since he was a first year resident was subdued. Her voice rasped and choked, and Christa could hear her sigh between her teeth. “You’re dead, and…I didn’t help matters much.”

              “Who am I kidding?” Gina said with so much self-loathing that Christa started. Brash, rude, and strong were characteristics that the resident associated with the ER director. Not remorse or self-loathing. “I killed you. I didn’t set you on fire, but I sure as hell sent you on that plane.”

              _Yes._ Christa felt a familiar flame of anger at the memory of how Gina Perello had coldly dismissed Neal. _“You should have thought about it before you shagged her!”_ The words stated still burned inside. And yet, why did she feel anything from the hearing the broken guilt in that one woman’s voice?

              “I was a fool. Such a fool, Dr. Hudson.” There was a catch in the ER director’s tone. “I didn’t get what I wanted, and…I caused you and the woman you loved so much agony. And…deprived you of your future.”

              Christa’s pulse jumped at the sound of faint crying. The burning anger eroded, and she swallowed. This was the person that had sent Neal away. Neal boarded the latest plane he could board to stay with Christa as long as he could, and he died on that flight. A month ago Peter Hudson had been crying underneath the magnolia tree, beside the marker of his son’s grave. _“I told them I didn’t feel any different than obtaining an M.D. than yesterday, and we got into a big fight.”_ She could remember with less pain now of the sound of Neal’s voice.

_The feeling of his gentle fingers stroking her hair, and of his deep breathing signifying that he was alive. “I don’t them I didn’t want to wear the bloody white coat, and I still remember of how our shouts echoed across the campus. My father was embarrassed. He’s a stereotypical Englishman, and…didn’t like my inadequate representation of my behavior.”_

_Laughter bubbled in Christa’s throat before she could stop it, and she was horrified for a moment, knowing that Neal had never told anyone about this, but to her relief, Neal was laughing as well, the sound coming from his chest peaceful._

_“I know, I know. He did say that. And…” There was a faint hint of regret on his face. “I told him that I didn’t feel like a doctor because I wasn’t an egotistical git like him.” There was a long pause, and Neal carefully measured his words. “I slammed the door and left. I had to get my picture taken later, of course. I apologized to Mum, but I didn’t apologize to my father. And well…it’s been a long time, but I still haven’t apologized.”_

_“Do you think you will one day?” Christa had asked as she turned towards him. She cupped his cheek and lowered her forehead onto his, comforting him from his thoughts._

_“One day,” he promised, locking their lips in a sweet kiss._

_One day,_ Christa thought as she turned away from Gina Perello. _Perhaps one day I will forgive Gina Perello, and approach her._ But the memory of Leanne’s tears when she thought no one was looking, whispering that she had lost a son as well to the grieving Asra and Peter Hudson, and the crying that Sophie howled at night, echoing her own heart…was enough to stop the thought of even comforting the woman who was too crying. Christa lowered her hand onto her now-swelling abdomen and thought.

              _One day perhaps, but not today._  


	12. Chapter Twelve

                                          _Chapter Twelve_

_Four months later…_

“When are you coming back?”

Christa looked up from the baby clothes she was folding and thought about the question for a moment. 

“I’m not saying that you have to come back immediately after you give birth,” Malaya quickly stated as Mario snickered and Angus softly smiled. “It’s just…lonely without you at Angles.”

“The new residents are driving us up the wall,” Mario commented with a glance at the wooden crib he had recently put together with Angus. “I swear, we weren’t as nearly as annoying.”

“They certainly weren’t as emotionally constipated as you,” Angus teased as Mario glared at him with no heat. Amidst the banter between the male residents – soon to become attendings – Christa thought about the past few months as she rested her hands across her swollen abdomen.

Leanne had allowed her to take as much time to heal as much as she could. Summer and turned to fall, and Christa steadily became able to start to live again. She was able to laugh at times, and smile. The wound of Neal’s death was still there, acting as a phantom wound, but it was an ache in her heart as opposed to a gaping and bleeding hole as it had been six months ago.

It was now late January, and Christa sometimes thought about her first pregnancy. In the fourth trimester with her son, she had been miserable. Her feet were so swollen she could barely walk, and she was uncomfortable all the time. Her former husband had endured the last months with her, listening to her complaints and whining, as gentle as he had been cold after her son’s death. This pregnancy was different. Christa still felt uncomfortable, having a baby pressing against her internal organs, but it felt faint compared to the times when she fell asleep to feel of her daughter’s kicks, and of how Leanne and Jesse stopped by after every shift staring in her thirtieth week. Her daughter certainly didn’t cause as much discomfort as her son had when in utero.

Christa had more people than she had than when she had been happily married. The friends she had gotten to know during the three years of their residency had been with her through every moment since Neal’s death. Christa still remembered of how Malaya had asked the older woman to explain why she had suddenly stopped in the baby section and was staring at a soft stuffed bunny with a blue bow with such a shocked expression. _“Neal gave me the small soft bunny in the dream I had just after he died.”_ Raw grief emerged from her voice, and Christa swallowed her tears as her friend simply listened. _“I…don’t know why I dreamed of that, or why it’s right in front of me.”_

Malaya had bought the stuffed rabbit without a word. Although Christa had insisted that she could buy her own baby clothes and other supplies, the family she had made refused to listen and supplied her with as much items as she needed. _“We love you, Christa, and we won’t allow the little man dollar to deprive you of taking care of your little girl.”_ Jesse’s words had stunned Christa. She knew that Jesse and her colleagues she had worked with for three years loved her. But hearing it from the man who called himself Mama to the residents and comforted her with stories about Neal when he was a young resident when she was able to hear them, was enough to make her sob into Jesse’s arms. She had curled herself with the small rabbit that night, for the first time not crying out of sadness but of joy that was coursing through her.

_“Did you know that Neal could sing?” Mike had reminisced, the broken expression he once had healed with a smile as he remembered first meeting the young English boy with no idea why he was in Angels in the first place. The attending had started coming to see Christa soon after his best friend’s memorial service, and he was lying half on the couch as the woman listened as the sounds of the ER faded. “When he was really lonely, you know, and I could hear him sometimes in the shower in Angels.” He closed his eyes, and Christa could tell that he was struggling not to cry by of how rapidly his chest moved. Christa had slowly moved her hand across his, a ghost-like touch of comfort as sadness enveloped in her chest at the memories Mike was telling her. “Maybe it’s just that I didn’t know anything about music, but…he was good. And I was surprised when I could hear him humming sometimes, under his breath.”_

_Christa nodded, remembering of how surprised she had been when she heard Neal singing in the shower. Sometimes it woke her up, bleary early in the afternoon. The man almost seemed embarrassed when his girlfriend confessed that she could hear him. “And I knew that my best friend was happy because he told me that he was now singing whenever he was happy.”_

_The man had said something similar when talking to her that afternoon. The Englishman had stated that his first play that he did was A Midsummer’s Night Dream at age eight, and that he had loved singing – and dancing – since then. Christa had smiled then, her heart full of love and wondering of how many times she would feel enamored by this man. Mike had told her that she made Neal happy, and he was grateful for that._

_“He was my best friend,” Mike had said as tears trailed down his cheeks. “I won’t forget about him, because he was like a brother to me.”_

She may have lost Neal, and they may have lost the person they had considered as their brother, son, and friend, but Christa had relearned that it was the healing balm of love that made the wounds heal.

              “I’m going to come back after maternity leave,” Christa replied. Her blue eyes echoed across the room, smiling and almost tearing at sight of the room that the doctors and nurses of Angels had done. Yellow was painted across the room with ironically enough, IV lines and medical equipment. _“It’s her legacy,”_ Mario had explained with an embarrassed look on his face at the look a shock on Christa’s face. _“I know you probably were hoping for flowers or some girly shit, but we thought it was best for her to know her legacy.”_ The people in the room were smirking, especially Angus, as Mario started to ramble and started to look down on the floor like he did when he was nervous. _“I mean, she’ll be surrounded by people who have M.D.s, and you’re a doctor. Neal was one too, and his parents are neurosurgeons.”_

 _“I love it,”_ Christa had whispered to him, laughing at the sight of the shock and relief on Mario’s face. She remembered of how he had blushed heavily when she suddenly kissed him on the cheek, continued to stand beaming at the sight of the replicas of the equipment she had seen for the past three years.

              Various traditional baby toys also surrounded the room. Christa smiled at the sight of the small stuffed lamb Asra and Peter had given to her, Neal had one similar when he had been a baby, but it had been lost when he was three. _“Oh of how he cried and cried. He cried for an hour. I held him, and he cried himself to sleep.”_ There was joy in Asra’s voice as she spoke to Christa as she described her son during his early childhood years. _“I hope that your little one won’t lose this gift so easily, my dear.”_

Christa kept a picture close to her heart. When she and Neal’s parents had been able to talk about their son without causing immense amount of pain, Christa came to know Neal as a child and a young teen as well. He was, in Christa’s opinion, the most adorable child she had seen. A much younger Peter Hudson was holding his two-year old son, who was smiling at the camera. Dark hair covered his head, straight and only curling as he got older. _“We never thought he would grow,”_ Peter had stated one day after explaining of how he could still carry his son at age eight. _“I didn’t hold him as often…as I should have when he started primary school, and I always remembering worrying about him because he was smaller than the majority of his classmates. Imagine my surprise when he became as tall as he did.”_ Olive skin and a smile that echoed his smile as an adult. A voice that Christa had only heard once in the shower, the legacy of Neal’s interest in Shakespeare and musicals as a young teen that she had previously only known from Mike, and of his sparse letters to his mother detailing his loneliness and later happiness of being in LA.

              She remembered Asra too instructing her not to name her granddaughter after a queen. _“I once thought of naming Neal after a king – English of course, but Peter had the insight to convince me that our son should have a name not related to history. “‘He should make his own history in life,’” and I believe that is how he became the most wonderful and kind man that my Neal became, Christa. And I also think that was how he managed to find you.”_

Sophie was disappointed when Christa didn’t name her daughter after Eleanor of Aquitaine, a reportedly famous woman of her time and _“bloody brilliant”_ among many other things.

 _“I think Evangeline would be a good name, don’t you think?”_ Christa had asked the young girl, who appeared pensive as she and the other woman sat cross-legged in her room. The books that had once been strewed across the room were now collected into the neat shelves again, and only three pictures of Neal remained in the room where there had previously surrounded the room.

A picture of Neal holding Sophie’s hand as he walked her to her first day of school.

Another older picture, this time of the young resident lying with Sophie on the grass, her smile echoing his during the early summer day.

And the one that Sophie held more important than anything, the last picture she had taken with Neal. The eleven-year old girl had gotten an award of getting the highest grade in social studies, and the dark-haired girl was uncomfortable in her dress shoes and shirt that she was wearing. But Neal was holding her hand as she held a book in the other, a small sheepish smile on her face as Beatrice had taken the picture.

_“It’s not as common as Emma, Sarah, or Catherine, and I think the name will suit her.”_

Evangeline translated as “bringer of good news,” It was a beautiful name, but that wasn’t the true reason why Christa had chosen it. The meaning of the name was special. Bringer of good news, which was true. Neal’s name as well brought a similar promise. “Champion.” Even though she had known him only two years in her life, Neal had been her champion. Her champion of happiness and light. Sophie had more simply described it as Neal being her scabbard.

It was an Arthurian legend. Merlin had once asked King Arthur if he preferred the sword or the scabbard. _“And King Arthur immediately replied that he preferred the sword to the scabbard,”_ Sophie had stated in what Mario called her “professor voice.” The residents had been amazed by the girl some called strange with the amount of history that she knew, and Christa had laughed when Sophie had scowled at an unsuspecting Mario when he barely scrapped through history at her age. _“History is important,”_ she had said as the young girl began to tell the history of England from before the Roman invasion to the Norman invasions. Mario had complained later that his ears had bleed until there wasn’t anything left, but there was no mistaking the respect he had for the amount of knowledge that the young girl had. _“I only know so much because Nel always gave me money to buy books, and he loved it when I read to him.”_

Neal had read to Sophie a lot when she was a child, the now twelve-year old believed that it was his influence that made her love words and history so much.

 _“Merlin called the king a fool, saying that as long as Arthur had the scabbard, he would not bleed and not be defeated. He would be protected.”_ The girl had tears in her eyes as she recounted the same story that Neal had told her when she was five years old. _“He read me that book…and I remember him saying that the scabbard was more than just a bearer of protection. I didn’t understand what Neal meant until now.”_

_“He was our happiness, and it was his presence that caused us to be so happy. Nel…protected our happiness and our light, as you said before, Christa.”_

_She is very serious for a young girl, and…promised me that she would be my daughter’s scabbard for as long as she lived. I told her that she didn’t have to, that she could just love her as a younger sibling and not someone to protect, but…I think Sophie feels the same way as Leanne, and everyone else does. They want to protect our daughter, and love her, because she is part of Neal._

A rough kick interrupted Christa’s thoughts, and she inwardly groaned at the feeling but smiled all the same.

_I cannot wait to meet you, Evangeline._


	13. Chapter Thirteen

                                                                       _Chapter Thirteen_

 

A couple days later on February 4, 2019. Christa finally met Evangeline. The day was warm for February in California, and thankfully Christa had called Leanne as soon as she had felt the contractions. Faces blurred and machines beeped as the labor continued and the pain increased. Christa could her Leanne talking to her, as the others including Neal's parents, who had come from London after a conference immediately after hearing about Christa's labor, were in the waiting room with the Malaya, Angus, Jesse, Mike, Sophie, and Beatrice as the labor continued. 

It was a surprisingly easy birth compared to days that some woman experienced, including herself with her son. Only ten hours compared to forty-eight that she had with Daniel.

Evangeline came in a rush of blood and various fluids as she cried for the first time. Leanne was the one who had held her first, staring so lovingly at the child after being cleaned by the nurses and given a blanket covering her before placing a gentle kiss on Evangeline’s forehead before giving her to her mother. Christa gasped at the sight of her daughter, fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. Her daughter looked very much like her father, with his dark hair and skin. Christa could see her nose and mouth in the very young baby girl, and held her tightly in her arms. Soon after the others came as well, crowding around the bed as they marveled at the small human. Evangeline had dark wet hair that covered her head. Her eyes were very dark when the little baby blinked them open, and slightly struggled at the sound of laughter and smiles coming from the people around her. Christa smiled, her eyes fresh with newly-shed tears as she gave her newborn daughter to be held by her grandparents.

“She looks just like him,” Asra replied with a wistful and loving smile as her fingers touched Evangeline’s cheek. “Neal had so much dark hair when he was born too.”

“It’s a good name choice, Christa,” Peter stated quietly with the most loving expression he had since the birth of his son. A smile, not faded from grief or remorse, echoed across his face. “I think Neal would have approved.”

 _All the things I wanted to say to you…the things I thought that you didn’t hear…_ Christa thought as she continued to hear her friends and family, including Beatrice and Sophie, remark of the very young Evangeline Leanne Hudson. _I’m convinced now that you knew before I even could say those words. I know now that you knew I loved you more than life, and that I you were my world. I said, the day before you died, my dearest Neal…that I would not be able to live without you._

Christa thought of Gina Perello then, who would know of the birth as the majority of the staff in the ER had to be replaced by other doctors on their shifts, being in the maternity ward. Perhaps the woman would ask to hold the baby girl, looking so much like her father only minutes old. _I have forgiven her,_ Christa thought. _I think now she regrets her role in Neal's death, and I don't think a part of her will forgive her._ At the corner of her eye, the woman could hear the private room start to open. _But I have forgiven her. And that is enough._

She thought of Neal then, of his smile and warmth of his life, and the love that he had for her and the family surrounding her until he had died. The blond remembered her choked words to him as they were prepared to say good-bye.

_And I know that I am able to live without you, because I am here, right now._

_I am still living, still grieving, and still loving you. And I know that is what you wanted me to do if you died. That nothing would ever separate the love that we have for each other._

_And I will let our daughter know that you loved her, and know what kind of man you were._

“Yes,” Christa agreed. “Neal would.”

The door fully opened with Gina Perello standing in the doorway, a look of uncertainty on her face.

Christa greeted her with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for who supported my work through your views, comments, and kodus! I hope you have enjoyed this story.


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